


Beyond Batman

by BadBlond099



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman Beyond, Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics), Super Sons (Comics)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst and Tragedy, Art, Bad Reaction to Coming Out, Blowjobs, Coming Out, Damian's Pets - Freeform, Fingering, Future Fic, Heat Vision Play, Homophobia, Ichabod's a little devil and I love them for it, M/M, Modified Version of the famous Sex Pollen, New resident of Wayne Manor, OC is Intersex, Other, Rough Sex, Unhealthy Relationships, Urbach-Wiethe Disease, brief gun violence, drug induced euphoria, fear toxin, freeze breath play, high fashion, kryptonite play, sketch - freeform, threesome with clones
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-16
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2020-12-17 06:48:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 59,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21050081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BadBlond099/pseuds/BadBlond099
Summary: Years after Bruce's retirement, Damian Wayne dons the cowl of Batman and continues to watch over Neo-Gotham City. With many of the vigilantes Batman once faced no longer in the picture, peace is still a pipe dream. But joy is something that has to be taken when it can be, and Damian is at his happiest when he's with his greatest love: Jon.But their relationship is wrought with challenges that force Damian further into isolation than even Batman had faced in the past.





	1. A Grim Future

**Author's Note:**

> Heyo! NGL, I'm a sucker for Dami/Jon and since their disappointing reunion in DC comics, I've decided to go back and pull out my not-so-sunny future fic in order to work towards something better for the two of them.
> 
> Of course, I'm a sucker for angst, so I'm certainly not just going to give them a happy life together. Noooo. I'm going to create a delightfully dark pit and throw them and everyone associated with them into in hopes that eventually they'll find some light at the end of the tunnel [maybe...probably...TBD].
> 
> And while I don't usually like to throw in OC's to fanfiction, with this being in the future and it having been a while since I watched or read anything Batman Beyond (and since I'm doing an AU where Terry ISN'T the Batman of the future), I needed to pull a little something out of my hat in order to fill a few gaps. There may be more OC's in this fic in the future, but for now I only have one in mind. I hope they'll be well received. They've been a challenge to work with, but I have a fondness for them and believe they fit well enough into Batman lore to slide right into this story, but I guess that'll be up to you readers.

There was one serious drawback to fucking a Kryptonian that Damian often found himself daydreaming about whenever Jon stayed the night. The two of them had experimented when they were younger and—while Jon’s half human genetics helped a little—it became painfully obvious that Jon wasn’t allowed to play catcher. During that experiment, after all, Jon had gotten excited and tensed only to nearly squeeze Damian’s dick clean off.

On rare occasions, Jon would allow Kryptonite play, but lately there was no hint at the opportunity arising, mostly because of Jon’s pent up frustrations.

“Jon…ngh! W-wait!”

Per the usual, Jon cupped his hand over Damian’s mouth and hastened his pace. They had a safe word, but Damian never used it anyways. Jon had brought up once that Damian’s stubbornness would mean Jon fucking him to death one of these days. Damian had welcomed the thought as a pleasant alternative to the sort of sordid death his life as a vigilante would someday afford him.

Damian came into the sheets, but Jon continued to ride him through his orgasm. With each thrust Damian’s legs threatened to buckle from sheer force. He wanted Jon to remove his hand. Wanted him to hurry up and come so that he could take a moment to breathe. But the young Super was never so easy. For ten straight minutes Damian was fucked senseless. He was brought to orgasm two more times before Jon even showed signs of slowing. In spite of how often he’d told the Super not to, Jon held his cock in as deep as it would go as he finally shot his load, drenching Damian’s insides. When he was finally done he let go of Damian’s mouth and dropped onto his side on the bed, waiting for Damian to curl up in his arms, freshly fucked out and too tired to go anywhere.

Damian wasn’t sure why Jon still tried.

“Get up, asshole. The bedding is disgusting.”

Jon whined but rolled off the bed, stealing the comforter to keep himself covered. “Maybe I liked the idea of you sleeping on soiled sheets,” he mumbled while Damian stripped the king-sized bed. “It’s sexy.”

“It’s lewd and unseemly,” Damian said with a grunt as he rolled everything up. “And you’re Superman’s son. If you wanted to stop me, you would have.”

Jon pursed his lips. “You always say that. I don’t want to abuse my power, D. We’re both in charge of this, whatever this is.”

Damian dropped the bedding down the laundry chute and sighed. “I’m not saying this doesn’t work. It’s just…I’m a means to an end for you and you’re a means to an end for me. If it’s not what you want, just say the word.”

Jon pursed his lips. “Why are you such an ass?”

Damian shrugged. “Consider my relatives. Pillow-talk isn’t exactly my strong suit.”

Damian was being unfair and he was fully aware of it. They’d been doing this dance for years. There weren’t any secrets between them and Clark’s homophobia had been a source of trouble for a long time. With the way that Jon looked up to his father, strove to be just like his father, and did everything that he could to earn his father’s approval, flaunting his relationship with the son of Batman was completely out of the question. Because of this, Damian never accepted his own father’s place in the Justice League. He’d long since outgrown the Titans and didn’t have time to help them since his father’s forced retirement.

If it was just isolation from teamwork, it might have been tolerable, but Damian wasn’t so lucky. Kane was killed in action. Barbara was acting police commissioner. Cassandra and Harper took Stephanie out of Gotham to travel the world after the incident that had left Stephanie a paraplegic. And, of course, Tim, Jason, and Dick were all out of the question. Damian was as well adapted to the isolation as one could be, but he was bitter about it. If not for Jon’s inability to face Clark whenever Damian was nearby, he’d have a place in the Justice League, after all.

“I’m in no mood for spooning,” Damian announced as unceremoniously as always. “If you’ve had enough, you’re welcome to use whatever shower pleases you.”

Jon whined. “Screw pillow-talk, you go right for the gut. I thought we were having a nice night?”

“It’s night, Jon. You always insist on nighttime trysts. It’s like you don’t even consider when Batman is busiest.”

“So? The whole city is wired to your optical implants. If there’s an emergency you’ll know and we’ll stop and take care of—”

“Jonathan…Perhaps you aren’t aware of the stress that is placed upon me, having to sate your needs while simultaneously watching for trouble. It’s not easy to stop you once you’ve started. It is truly uncomfortable to beg you to stop thrusting into me so that I can go stop a prostitution ring on the other side of the city.”

Jon blushed with anger and embarrassment. “Is it so wrong to want to spend more time with you?”

Damian was sure that it would come to this. Jon had been particularly frustrated as of late. He needed to let off some steam, and Damian knew the best way to make him do that. Now was the time to go straight for the throat. “Then move in. The offer, as always, remains open.”

Jon’s eyes widened. “You know what? You and I are going to shower together.”

Not an unexpected reaction, but Damian had honestly been hoping for an argument, not this. “Jon, that’s not—”

But Jon had dropped the comforter and lifted Damian into his arms with ease. “Shut up. For once, D, accept that you won and shut up.”

It didn’t feel like a victory. It never did. Jon carried him to the closest shower before turning the water on too hot and setting Damian down just to pin him against the cool wall. “Is this really necessary—ngh!”

Jon thrust himself back into Damian with nothing but the hot water and his own fluids from earlier for lubrication. This wasn’t some romantic gesture like Jon had insisted he wanted. 

Damian knew that his boyfriend was frustrated and he’d thrown wood on the fire on purpose to coax Jon into relieving some of that stress. Of course, stress relief for a Super meant a day of two out of commission for the Bat. Damian could feel his ass tearing from Jon’s brutal rhythm. This wasn’t for Damian. He’d already resigned himself to that. There was very minimal pleasure for him to take from this. He just did his best to endure. Just until Jon calmed down. Deep breathing was usually a trick Damian used to deal with torture. It wasn’t something his father had ever taught him to cope with dating, but Bruce had never dated someone stronger than him.

Okay, there may have been a fling with Wonder Woman, but unless she adorned a steel strap-on, Damian really didn’t think it could compare to his own situation.

Jon’s hands wrapped loosely around Damian’s neck, forcing him to slow his breathing even further. Apparently Jon didn’t like that. He pulled out and turned Damian around so that they were facing each other. One easy push against Damian’s neck and he slid up against the slick wall so that his feet weren’t touching the floor. Without any air getting to his lungs, Jon penetrated him again and continued to fuck up into him. Just before Damian could lose consciousness, Jon finally came again, spilling his seed deep inside of Damian before pulling out, letting him go, and taking him into a shaky embrace.

“You’re the worst,” he whispered.

Damian, sore and used as he was, breathed deeply and held his boyfriend. “It’s okay. I won’t leave you. It’s okay.”

The shower went on for another half an hour. Jon sobbed quietly as Damian cleaned himself up. When they stepped out Jon snapped at Damian for pressing at what was still a very open wound for him. Damian took it, quietly thinking how hopeless they’d been for over a decade and how unlikely it was that they’d ever change.

After wearing himself down, Jon stormed out and Damian went about his day. He found a pair of slacks and a solid black dress shirt. The day demanded formal clothes, but Damian hated wearing a suit when he didn’t have to, and there was no point in wearing anything else that his pets could shed on. Once dressed he looked himself over. Nothing had been ironed recently. All of his clothes were either castaways kept in whichever room they wound up in or bought brand new for singular occasions. After all, it was too much trouble to worry about cleaning or caring for them. He had more money than God. He had no need for frugality.

The Manor had multiple kitchens, but Damian only ever made use of the one on the first floor for his pets’ sakes. Two bowls of food on the floor and two bowls of water. Three bowls of food placed in very specific locations; one on the kitchen island, one on the fridge, and one on the windowsill overlooking the overgrown garden. Then he turned the sink on low, letting it trickle just a tad more than a drip. One long whistle later, his companions emerged from their favorite parts of the manor to eat.

The two dogs—Ace and Samson—could hardly care less which one of them got to which food bowl, but they never stole from one another once a bowl was claimed. Ace was a solid black Great Dane. Bruce had adopted him after Batman took down a dog fighting ring. Damian had had a hard time adjusting to him at first because of how much the dog reminded him of his childhood pet; Titus. But where Titus was a well-trained ally, Ace was basically militant. He knew commands that were meant for police dogs and would never show aggression without permission from whomever he considered to be his master. Samson, on the other hand, was a rescue. A marbled English Mastiff—golden brown and black—with an over-the-top friendly personality. The poor dog had been left on the streets because his owners weren’t aware of how large he would get, and his friendly nature kept him from fighting off anything that attacked him. Damian found him getting picked on by a particularly nasty Pitbull. He’d scared the malicious stray off and got the big softy to a vet. Samson then came to live with him at the mansion during his recovery, and after Ace took a liking to him and the cats learned how much of a pushover he was, he became a regular member of the household.

The cats were a more colorful lot. A short-haired, black cat with a visible scar over its nose had shown up in the mansion one day and tried to steal Ace’s food. For all that Damian knew, she had been there for a few days before she made her presence known. But she had given in to hunger at last and sought out a meal. Ace didn’t like her much, but she held her ground. Of course, Damian was never one to deny an animal food. He’d popped open a can of tuna and left it nearby for her. She went right to it and lapped it up gratefully. He’d barely turned on the nearby sink when she ran over and jumped in, washing off and drinking the water. He knew then that she would be a part of his home, so he stocked up on cat food and got her her own bowl so that she wouldn’t have to fight with Ace.

It wasn’t even a week later that a blue Russian missing most of its tail appeared in the kitchen and started a fight with the black cat over the sink. This stopped only when Damian left a can of food out for it. The last was an orange tabby missing its right ear. Again, similarly mysterious circumstances led to her appearance, and she fought over the running sink as well. Given the tough nature of each cat and, as he learned quickly, their inclination to remain in certain parts of the mansion, he named them each after the Great Unifiers of Japan; Nobunaga was the black cat, Toyotomi the blue, and Tokugawa the tabby. Over time they came to accept the running sink water as a place of sanctuary. They’d hiss, scratch, and bite if they got anywhere near each other otherwise, but when at the sink, they were in neutral territory.

He greeted each pet in their turn before making his way to the upstairs kitchen to make a light breakfast for himself and set up a tray. When he was done eating, Ace found Damian and the two of them made their way up to the top floor and knocked on the door to the master bedroom. Damian stepped in when there was no response. Vital monitors hummed softly against the sound of the distant city. Ace trotted over to Bruce, who was sitting in his favorite chair by the opened window. Ever since the day Bruce had nearly jumped out of it, Damian had all of the windows replaced with temporal glass so that at the touch of a button the outside air would flow in freely, but nothing could get in or out of them otherwise. It was basic bulletproofing, he’d told his father to keep him from getting angry. In reality it felt more like he’d caged the old Bat inside of the mansion.

“It’s time for your medications, Father.”

“The city sounds restless, Dick. You’re not keeping up with it well enough.”

This charade hurt the most. “Gotham sounds restless because times have changed, Father. I have everything monitored 24/7. Organized crime is at an all-time low. Costumed villains are all but a thing of the past.”

“They’re restless, Dick. I can hear them screaming in the bowels of Arkham. Joker, Two-Face, Penguin, Scarecrow, Harley—”

“Arkham is gone, Father. You know this. Such medieval practices were outdated when you were in your prime. Wayne Memorial Hospital handles its mentally disturbed patients with infinitely more dignity and—”

“Enough. It’s getting late. I should already be patrolling. Tell Alfred to ready the car.”

Damian sighed. “It’s only morning, Father. Alfred worked hard to make this meal for you. He’ll be pretty upset with me if he finds out that you wouldn’t eat it.”

Bruce scoffed and waved Damian over. Damian set the tray on the table next to the chair and Bruce picked up the pills, threw them into the back of his throat, and swallowed them dry. Though he seemed satisfied, Damian picked up the glass of water and held it out to his father. “Just in case.”

Bruce eyed Damian suspiciously, but accepted the drink.

“Now stop wasting my time, Dick. Get ready for a long night. I can feel something in the air. We’re going to pay the warden at Arkham a visit. See who’s really still there.”

Damian was grateful for the tranquilizer among Bruce’s medications. “Of course. I’ll meet you at the cave.” He whistled softly and Ace followed him out. Feeling the discomfort from his time with Jon and his own aging body, Damian moved slowly to the main stairwell. Ace barked when he reached the top of the stairs and bounded down excitedly to greet the unexpected guest.

“Good morning Helena.”

“Morning little bro.”

“How many times must I ask you to stop calling me that?”

“At least one more time.” Helena struggled to pull two cats apart while the third perched up on her shoulders. “Okay Nobu, get down. Toku, Toyo, quit your hissing!”

Damian scoffed. “You really have a way with them. Usually the Great Unifiers won’t leave their territories just to greet a person,” he noted.

Helena stood up with a cat in each arm and a cat on her shoulders as well as both Ace and Samson dancing on either side of her. “I’d blame Mom, but I’m pretty sure she didn’t actually have cat-based superpowers…Or at least I'm pretty sure she didn't...” She handed Tokugawa over to Damian and the disgruntled cat began purring almost instantly. “How’s Bruce holding up?”

Damian raised an eyebrow. “I thought you didn’t have time to watch over a broken Bat?”

“Don’t twist my words. I already watched one Batman die. I won’t do it again.” The years hadn’t been kind to Bruce. They’d changed Damian from the refined Robin that he once was to the hardened Bat that the changing city needed. Helena’s age was showing, but she leaned into it like fine wine. Having given up the Huntress mantle some time ago, she favored pantsuits to body armor. She and Damian still had the same ebony hair and both had mastered Bruce’s scowl, but the resemblances between them stopped there. “Does he still call you Dick?”

“He still asks for Pennyworth,” Damian admitted somberly. “But he hasn’t had an episode in a little while.”

Helena stroked Toyotomi lovingly and said, “There are worse things to forget. Speaking of—”

“I haven’t forgotten. Will you be joining us this year?”

She cocked her head slightly. “'Us?'”

Damian rolled his eyes. “This is your first year coming along in the morning. You forget, we have obligations at night.”

“'We?'” she scoffed at him. “I passed by Jon on my way in. I don’t think YOU remember your nighttime obligations.”

“Are you coming or not?”

Helena set the cats down and followed Damian to the main entrance. There he picked up the dogs’ leashes and gave Samson’s to her. “They come too.”

She hooked it up to the big softy and the four of them went out together.

“How are things with Jon?” she dared to ask, recognizing a slight limp in Damian’s step. “Has he figured things out with his dad?”

“Oh sure. That’s why he stormed out.” Damian said gruffly. “Can I ask what brings you to the Manor this morning?”

Helena sighed. “I mean, either way, I was going to be around today, but I needed to talk to you about leaving.”

“Agreed. It has been a disturbing amount of time since your last vacation. Soon you will be REQUIRED to take a vacation. Of course, you will still be paid. At this point you could take a whole month without issue.”

“Um, yeah, that’s not exactly it.”

“If you’re looking for a raise, I’m sure that can be arranged. You handle more than enough. I still fail to see why you won’t just accept a partnering role in the company. You certainly do more work than I do and—”

“I’m going home, Damian.”

Damian stopped talking.

“Grandfather can’t continue to aid the League in his old age. He’s retiring from the cowl. I’m going home to take his place.”

Still nothing from Damian.

“I’ve already run to the end of my lease. I put in my two week’s notice with the company today. I’ll be gone by the end of the month.”

Damian grimaced. “It’ll be a little harder for you to pull off the Batman look than it was for me. People will know you’re not the same person that he was.”

“Maybe, but the symbol still means something. I’ll uphold our family’s ways. In time they’ll just have to see that Batwoman is no different from Batman.”

“You’ll do well…” Damian conceded. “…but it can be a lonely path.

Helena sighed. “That’s what I really wanted to talk to you about. Kara’s already agreed to go back and live with ne. There are people I’ve met here who I’d like to see if I can find there. People who might join the crusade or carry on the legacy with me. Dad and Grandpa may not have been the best about branching out, but I’ve seen the good that Batman Inc. can do. But you? You’re going to lose even more allies when I leave, and you’re dangerously short on those.”

“Batman is a figure of solitude.”

“I won’t tell you to go adopt little child soldiers to get yourself a Robin, but it’s not healthy for Damian to be so isolated. You need people in your life, little brother.”

Damian hated when she called him that normally, but now that she was leaving, it had a twinge of bitter-sweetness to it. “I have my pets.”

“Yeah but—” Right on cue, Ace started barking wildly and pulling against his leash. Samson followed suit, making Helena jump. Damian unhooked Ace’s leash and the lithe dog shot out like a bullet, nearly tackling the man waiting for them up ahead.

“Wait. By ‘us’ you meant HIM?” Helena said darkly as she recognized Jason. “Awesome.”

Jason showed Ace love and attention as he waited for Damian, Helena, and Samson to catch up. “Morning, ladies,” he said mockingly, as he took his hand away from Ace to push up his sunglasses. “You’ve never joined us before. Finally figure you’d check in under the light of day? Gotta say, the light really highlights the bags under your eyes.”

“Piss off, Todd.”

Jason’s mouth twitched upward in one corner. “You’re the one intruding on tradition, Hel. But it’s okay. Today’s a day of peace. Even I won’t stand for any fighting.” He took a pack of cigarettes out of the breast pocket of his suit jacket and shook one out, taking it between his lips. Helena watched in quiet rage as Jason took his time, fishing around for his lighter. When he found it, it slipped from his hand only for someone else to catch it.

Tim stepped through a portal, flicked the cap of Jason’s lighter back, and lit it in one suave motion. He held it to the end of Jason’s cigarette before stashing the lighter in Jason’s back pocket for him. “It’s good to see you, Helena.”

She was more than surprised to see Tim. All she could do was stare at him in stunned silence. “What’s it been, twenty years?” he said lightly as he put an elbow on Jason’s shoulder.

“She’s a Wayne, remember?” Jason commented. “Part of the exclusive club. They don’t have time to look down on us little people.”

“Shut up, Jay. You know why she doesn’t spare you a second thought. Unlike you, I have business elsewhere,” Tim said flatly. It had been a long time, Damian thought, since Tim’s voice betrayed much emotion. Of course, that might have been expected. Tim had known since he was a kid that someday he was going to take on the cowl. He was trained to take over the Wayne Enterprises business, but all of that changed when he came face to face with a future version of himself. It became his job to slip through the time stream, through the fabric of the multiverse itself, and try to correct catastrophic errors. He’d once tried to kill Jon because in the future Jon was supposed to release a small solar flare that would destroy all of Metropolis and its neighboring cities. It was during this encounter with what was at the time Tim’s future self that Damian learned what the third Robin was truly to become. “It’s good to see you, Helena. That’s all I meant. And, well, you’ll be missed.”

Jason blew out a puff of smoke before asking, “What, you sick or something?”

“She’s going home,” Damian confirmed. “So stop being an asshole for two seconds already so that we can do this properly.”

Jason took another long drag before pushing his sunglasses up. His left eye was permanently scarred and unseeing. His right arm had similarly been taken from him—severed at the shoulder. In spite of his financial means, he never bothered with prosthetics. He accepted these flaws and learned to live with them as a reminder of his unending crusade. Even though he’d taken up roots in Neo-Gotham as its most ruthless crime lord, he still clung to the idea of eradicating the city of the true scum by any means necessary. Still, thanks to the obvious handicap that his old injuries created, he rarely took to the streets himself. Unlike the others, though, Jason hadn’t aged in decades. In spite of being the eldest among them, he didn’t look a day over twenty-three thanks to his old dip in the Lazarus Pit. “Whatever…Uh, who wants to start?”

They all stood somberly by the grave, no one sure what to say.

“Father still asks for him,” Damian finally began. “Even today, he was prattling off little chores for him.”

“Ever wonder how things might be now if he was still around?” Jason brought up. “He was always the glue, you know?”

“He was never going to be around forever. We all knew that,” Tim said. “He was too good for any of us.”

“It was always comforting to know that he was here to take care of everyone,” Helena added. “In my universe he was a beacon of kindness. Without him I don’t think any of us would have been able to do what we did.”

Damian put a hand on the grave. “We miss you every day, Pennyworth.”

Jason elbowed Tim, who took the cigarette out of Jason's hand and replaced it with a thermos. “Getting drunk in the day, boys?” Helena chided.

“Earl Gray,” Tim confirmed. Alfred’s favorite blend.

Jason tipped the thermos and let the tea fall over Alfred’s gravestone. “Pour one out for the true OG.” He then took a swig only to choke. “Fuck, that’s hot.” He held it out and Damian took it from him, taking a more reserved drink. He inhaled the soft smell deeply and could almost see Alfred standing with them, a proper cup and saucer in hand.

He offered the thermos to Helena, who, reluctant as she was to be around as notorious a criminal as the Red Hoods' leader, accepted it and basked in the calming warmth that it had to offer. “It really does taste like he just made it,” she said as she handed it back to Tim.

“That’s because he did,” Tim explained. “That’s our tradition. I go back to a time when he was still around and swipe a pot of tea. This is Alfred’s authentic blend.”

Helena smiled sadly. “This is sweet. I’m glad you boys can find a day to put your differences aside.”

“At least, three of us can,” Jason mumbled. “Believe you me, sister, if HE ever came around, all bets would be off.”

Tim and Helena agreed quietly. Damian couldn’t bring himself to even consider the absent member of the family. They spent an hour at the cemetery to catch up. Tim hadn’t stopped rushing through things. He’d learned so much, but he wasn’t allowed to use most of his knowledge. His goal was just to keep peace and avoid major conflicts. Much of what he had learned he could never put to use, but that didn’t stop Jason from needling him about sports teams to bet on. Whenever Jason's less than savory transactions were mentioned he quickly changed the subject or made open ended threats to steer the conversation in another direction. Both boys brought up Jon, fishing for good news that Damian didn’t have to offer. It was Helena’s news that took the cake.

“You’re really leaving then?” Jason confirmed. “But who’s going to check in and make sure that Baby-Bat’s still alive?”

“You could check in yourself,” Tim suggested.

“Hey. I give you guys one day out of the year to play family. The other days, the Wayne name means nothing to me.”

Helena rolled her eyes. “I would never expect you to take care of Damian,” she told them. “Either of you. I mean, seriously. It’s a miracle you two haven’t gotten yourselves killed.”

Jason smirked. “Recently.”

“Dead Robins Club was officially disbanded after membership became all inclusive,” Tim said dryly, though he and Jason bumped fists.

“Yeah. Point being, I already set something up.”

Damian sputtered, his own saliva going down the wrong pipe. “I’m sorry, you what?”

She shrugged, feigning innocence. “I couldn’t just up and leave my little brother without anybody to take care of him. So, I took out an ad listing a room at the manor.”

Jason was laughing hysterically while Damian’s jaw dropped.

“Only one good fit, right?” Tim said.

“Yep. I mean, enough people jumped at the opportunity to move into Wayne Manor, but most of them were media hounds or needy little charity cases…no offense boys.”

“Some taken,” Jason said, his laughter quickly subsiding.

“I narrowed it down by laying out a lot of requirements and rules to filter through the noise. It worked out so nicely that, when you get back to the manor after this, your first tenant should just be arriving.

“You’re not serious?”

“I’m dead serious, Damian. They’re a few years younger than you. Working through the med-school program at Gotham U. Clean record and took a path different from what their family laid out for them, which has allowed them to do some good in the world.”

“Their family?”

“Wouldn’t want to spoil the fun,” she teased.

Tim nodded in affirmation. “Fun. Yes. That’s a great way to put that person.

Damian scowled. “You! You knew this was going to happen!”

“I know a lot. There were tons of ways that something like this could have happened. This way? Well, this is how you meet them.”

“And who the hell are they, huh? Like hell am I just going to let some stranger into my house and—”

“The deal is they've got a one-month trial period. Legally, you can’t kick them out without a pretty damned good reason before that month’s up. After that month, unless you let them sign a longer-term contract, they're yours to kick to the curb.”

Damian’s glare could have been lethal at that point, and Jason and Tim were less than helpful. “This wasn’t your decision to make,” Damian growled out.

“Consider it one last form of meddling with my little brother before I go,” Helena offered. 

Tim’s reassurances that things would work out “mostly fine” proved to be no more helpful. When they finally decided to get back to their lives, Jason and Helena said more final goodbyes. Neither one of them quite seemed sincere with the other, but it was still as much as they could offer on the anniversary of Alfred’s death. Tim bade them all farewell and made no promises as to when or if he’d see any of them again. Helena offered to meet the new tenant, but Damian was hardly in any mood to put up with them, let alone her, so she relinquished Samson’s leash to him and they parted ways, promising to see each other at least one more time before she’d leave.

Damian wasn’t happy to see that his new tenant was already waiting at the Manor upon his return. The person in question had silver hair with stripes shaved into both sides and the top middle grown out and tied back. Damian cleared his throat as he stepped out of his car and walked over to the new renter. “I’m Damian Wayne. I guess, this is welcome.”

“Ichabod Crane. And yes, before you point it out, I know. And no, I’m not some medieval mad scientist tasked with fighting off some headless horseman.”

The gothic literary namesake aside, Helena had told Damian that his new tenant had an unwanted family connection. “Jonathan Crane…”

“Ah, so you know of my sperm donor then? Lovely,” Ichabod said with an eye roll. “The old creep gave me a name and a defect and that’s it. Can’t help being related to a fear-mongering psychopath. Know what I mean?”

Damian sighed. “Yeah. Right. Um, did you have bags?”

Ichabod pulled a duffel out of the back seat of the old car they'd apparently driven over in and threw it at Damian, who caught it, though a bit off guard. “Oh, uh, I just meant—”

“Don’t worry. That’s just my clothes,” Ichabod confirmed, not really explaining anything. They went around and got an amusingly old-fashioned, brown leather trunk, littered with stickers from various cities around the world. “This thing’s got the important stuff.” The bottom had wheels on one side and Ichabod pulled it along. “Lead the way, DW.”

“Yeah, don’t call me that.”

“Big D?”

“Nope.”

“Daaaaaaamnian?”

“This is a truly awful first impression.”

“Says you. I’m having a blast.”

Damian could tell that they weren’t going to get along well, but it was too late, according to Helena. “Just one month,” he whispered under his breath as he hauled the duffel bag up the front steps. Ichabod hoisted the trunk up as well and glass clinking could be heard with each step. 

“Sooo, is there an elevator in the place at all or is it all stairs?”

“It’s old architecture,” was all that Damian offered as explanation.

“And it’s the twenty thirties. Get with it, D-Dawg.”

“This is the entry hall, and if you don’t stop, I will end the tour here.”

“You’re no fun. Just show me my room, a bathroom, and the kitchen. Then you can wander off into whatever chambers you have hidden away in this mansion and hole yourself away where you’ll never have to deal with me again.”

It was an appealing offer. There was just one problem. “I suppose you can have whichever vacant bedroom you want. They’re all neatly kept, and each have their own bathrooms connected to them as well.”

Ichabod’s eyes lit up. “Man, it’s crazy to think I’m really going to live in Wayne Mansion…I don’t suppose there are any large bathrooms or extra spacious kitchens where food won’t be consumed?”

“You’re definitely more than I bargained for.”

It took an hour to give Ichabod a relatively comprehensive tour. Damian shot down nickname after nickname and ignored all questions that he found suspicious or annoying. The tour at least afforded him the opportunity to lay down some ground rules. He pointed out his father’s room—the master bedroom—and forbade them from entering, explaining that Bruce Wayne was suffering from dementia and didn’t need the confusion of a new resident in his home. He gave Ichabod free reign of the main kitchen as long as it was only used to make food and not for whatever weird experiments they had in mind. He showed Ichabod where the entrance to the garage was to keep the trash heap of a car that was parked out front stored out of sight. In the end, after everything was settled in, Ichabod laid claim to the largest bedroom on the first floor.

“How can one person be so exhausting?” Damian muttered to himself as he went to his office to get some work done. With Helena leaving, a huge position at the company would be opening up and no doubt the sharks were already closing in with the faintest scent of blood in the water. He didn’t really have a plan for a stand in. In spite of Helena’s unusual background, he just assumed she’d always be around. Now? He truly wasn’t sure how he was going to get by.


	2. A New Ally

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damian's new tenant proves to be difficult to get along with, but not impossible to live with. In due time, Damian finds he's adjusted to the extra body around the mansion.
> 
> Jon, however, finds Ichabod somewhat unsettling at first. It takes a lot to really accept Ichabod as an ally to the Bat when his Super boyfriend is so weary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More Icky! I do hope they grow on people. They've somehow become more progressive than most Batman characters while simultaneously having impossible origins like most older Batman characters (at least he didn't become some parody of the headless horseman or something like that...).
> 
> Comments are welcome! Please note the disclaimer at the end of the first chapter. I'm all about constructive criticism of Ichabod and I do hope they don't offend anyone. I stand by the fact that they're supposed to be a delightfully amusing character and a new companion for our little misanthropic Batman...and, well, to fill the void created by the absence of Alfred. Rather than be a butler too good for this world, Ichabod is a whimsical tenant. Too old to be some fostered kid (plus, they've got no desire to be a Robin, nor does Damian want/need one), too young to give sage advice, but just right to be sassy, sarcastic, and all around awkward.

“Damian, I swear, if you weren’t hurt I’d kill you right now!” Jon was about to kick open the front door to the manor when Damian shoved himself out of his boyfriend’s arms and hit the walk way hard. “Why?”

“Nk. Can’t go in…like this…”

“What, you think your dogs will be upset? What the hell is wrong with you? You won’t go to a hospital but you won’t go into your own house either? Make up your damned mind!”

“Jon, please—”

“No! You’re being stupid! Now let me take care of you!” Jon kicked the front door right off its hinges and alarms went off throughout the whole mansion (which was hardly a surprise). What did surprise him, was the stranger walking around with a toothbrush in their mouth who began screaming as the mansion went into lockdown mode. Jon watched, open mouthed, as the person continued to scream while slowly lowering themselves to the floor. Samson, who was in a panic of his own, bounded over and flopped down over the person protectively.

“Security override, code HERE’S JONNY,” Damian said quietly, shutting the alarms off. He struggled to get to his feet only to drop not even a step into the manor. This was becoming his worst nightmare.

The first month with Ichabod around had passed without incident. In fact, the manor was large enough that they barely ever encountered one another. When they did, Damian had no problem ignoring them. So, when it came time to renew the lease, Damian allowed it to be extended and Ichabod seemed willing to meet his terms, so there were no problems. But now, in the middle of that second month, problems arose.

Damian had been dealing with a splicing den that had been kidnapping kids from low-income neighborhoods for experimentation. While acting on a lead he was ambushed by Komodo-Splicers. Enough of them sinking their teeth in had damaged his suit and fighting them off was difficult as they kept getting right back up and coming back for more. In the end, one had gotten lucky and found a weak point in Damian’s body armor, which got caught in their serrated teeth and tore out a patch that the rest continued to lunge at on his abdomen. Before he could get away, the geneticist in charge of the splicers had injected Damian with something. Only then, in a state of panic, did he call out for Superman.

Jon reached him and had him out of there within seconds—as he promised he always would—but the damage was already done. After some arguing, Damian talked Jon out of Gotham General, but he was so out of it that he’d forgotten all about his roommate until they’d reached the manor.

This wasn’t going to be something that he could explain away.

“Sammy! Sammy, you’re squishing me!”

Jon whistled and Samson stood up and bounded off, satisfied that he’d protected his charge well enough. “Who the hell are you?” Jon asked with obvious impatience.

“Ichabod. Icky. Whatever you want to…uhh, are you Superman?”

Jon’s hands curled into fists. “The hell do you think you’re doing here? Get out! Get out before I—”

“They live here,” Damian said weakly. “I’m sorry. I never told you.” He tried to pull himself across the floor but was losing strength quickly.

Ichabod tossed the toothbrush aside and ran over to their roommate. “Demony, is that you?”

“If I say no will you…will you forget this?”

Ignoring Damian’s mutterings, Ichabod forced him onto his back and removed their own shirt to press against Damian’s open wound. “Has he been bleeding like this for long?”

“What?” Jon was still in shock and now staring at Ichabod’s wrapped chest in utter confusion. “Who? I don’t—”

“Talk to me, Super-Sleuth! How long has he been bleeding?”

“I…I couldn’t carry him too quickly so maybe ten minutes since I’ve seen him.”

Ichabod clicked their tongue. “It’s not clotting and his blood pressure is low.” They straddled Damian’s waist to get better leverage and apply more pressure to the wound. “You’re super, so can you carry us both like this? He needs a flat surface and someplace with medical supplies. I’m all for hospital, but I’ll take a wild guess and say he didn’t want that?”

Jon grimaced. “I’m not about to trust you with him.”

“Cool, well I’d like to keep living here, and it’s kind of hard to do that if my landlord up and dies on me. Now, can we move?”

Landlord. That eased Jon’s mind a little. He carefully scooped Damian up, balancing Ichabod on top of him before taking them through one of the many nearby entrances to the Batcave. Damian groaned under Ichabod’s weight as they entered his secret sanctum.

“Holy hidden hideouts, Batman, have I got some questions for yooouuu,” Ichabod teased.

“Talk about this to anyone and you’ll never speak again,” Jon promised as he flew them over to the infirmary set up down there.

“And here I thought I just lived with a billionaire recluse,” Ichabod whispered while scanning the area. “This is like a dream. Do you have a…oh man, is that a fully automated centrifuge? How many slots? Ohh, the things I could do down here!”

“Yo Spooky,” Jon snapped. “Help him.”

“Right. Judging by the marks I’d say something bit you?”

“Komodo,” Damian breathed, thinking back to the gruesome new Splicers on the streets.

“Komodo? Like the big-ass lizards? Okay, that’s good at least. Not really a deadly venom to worry about, but it would explain the blood loss. This place equipped with skin grafts? Blood packs? Surgical laser? Hell, modern surgical tools at all? In fact, you’ll definitely want an anesthetic, so if you could point that out too—”

“Injected…with…something,” Damian rasped out as his vision blurred. He’d worry about ramifications later. Right now, he needed help and Ichabod seemed to know what they were doing. “Splicers…injected…me…”

“Woof. Okay, that’s going to take something else entirely to get out of your system. Soup-Man, take over applying pressure and let me get to work.”

Jon still seemed reluctant and quietly fuming, but he did as he was told and Damian, accepting that there was nothing left for him to do at this point, allowed his consciousness to fade out.

***

{Wake up, Little-D.}

How could he? How could he when the world outside was so dark. So broken.

{Bruce would be so disappointed. To think you’d fail him so easily. It’s almost tragic.}

“Shut up!” Damian sat up quickly and was greeted with excruciating pain in his stomach and a raging headache.

“Was I talking to myself again? Sorry about that.” Ichabod flitted about in an old wheelie chair, going from place to place in the Bat-Cave’s infirmary, tinkering about like a mad scientist. “Your super friend wasn’t overly talkative, so I got into the habit. How do you feel?”

Damian stared at the fluorescent lights above him and sighed. “Like an idiot.”

“Okay, but for the sake of medical reasons. How’s your pain on, let's say, a scale of one to ten?”

“Eleven.”

“Now for less sarcastic medical reasons so that I can know how much morphine to actually give you.”

“None.”

“You’re really bad at this.”

Damian started pulling IV’s from his wrists and threw his feet over the side of the gurney. “I’m fine, Icky. I just…I can’t believe you’re down here.”

“Yeah. Who’da thunk, am I right? You really lucked out, though. Drugs, serums, compounds, and medicines are my specialty. And I lucked out in that you’ve got this place so delightfully stocked! I can’t believe it! You even have all the equipment needed to manufacture anti-venom! Do you know how rare that is these days?”

“Ick, can we talk?”

Ichabod wheeled over to the bed and smiled. “Let me guess; you’re worried because now I know that Damian Wayne isn’t just a broody billionaire boy with daddy issues?”

“My father was Batman.”

“So you’re Bat-Kid?”

“So this is his legacy. This is what I do. This is who I am.”

Ichabod nodded and tugged slightly at the gown Damian was wearing. “Can you take this off for me? I want to make sure the grafts are still holding okay. With how fast you moved when you woke up I want to make sure that nothing’s reopened either. And, of course, I’d like to confirm there are no signs of infection.”

Damian obliged, untying the strings behind his neck and back and allowing the gown to fall of his shoulders and expose his chest and abdomen. “You’re surprisingly good at this.”

Ichabod changed out their gloves then gently palpated the area. “I’d hope so. I’m in my fourth year of internship and top of my class. Though, admittedly, I would not be allowed to do what I’ve done to you without being under EXTREME supervision. Guess you’re lucky this kind of thing doesn’t bother me.”

Damian winced as Ichabod’s hand passed over a particularly sensitive spot. “You didn’t seem very cool under pressure when the alarms went off,” Damian reminded them.

“It was loud,” Ichabod whined while continuing his checkup. “I don’t do well with loud stuff. Messes with my head. I think I’m supposed to be scared of loud stuff.”

Damian raised an eyebrow. “Supposed to be?”

“Oh Ding-Bat, you’re not the only one with secrets. For now let’s focus on yours. Get reacquainted now that this is a thing, right? Hello. I’m Ichabod Crane, Scarecrow’s most fucked up human experiment. And you are?”

Damian was awash with questions, but he played along. “Damian Wayne…son of Batman and a psychotic immortal assassin.”

Ichabod laughed. “Somehow this feels better. Or at least for me, obviously. I’m sure you can’t be feeling great, like, at all. Hypothermic symptoms are common with Komodo bites. Do you feel feverish? Nauseous? Shaky?”

Damian felt weird, that was for sure. He hadn’t shared his secrets with…anyone… Sure, there had been people who came along and eventually became part of his father’s troupe, but they’d always learned his identity as a sort of collateral issue. Now he’d actually told someone, outright, who he was. It went against every rule. Every instinct. And what’s worse; the person in question was related to one of Batman’s greatest enemies. How had Helena thought this setup would be okay? How had any of this come to be?

“Oh, also let me know if you feel any sensitivity to lights and sounds that are way beyond the scale of reason,” Ichabod threw in. “Turns out your splicer friends had a sense of humor. Injected you with spliced vampire bat genes. Wasn’t there a Man-Bat in Gotham once? Well, you almost got to see what it’d be like to be just like them. Had to flush your system. You’re sooo lucky you had that much blood on hand that matched yours. Also…you might want to resupply your stock.”

Damian exhaled deeply. “Thank you.”

“Hm? Don’t thank me, just tell me if you feel off at all. You’re making this really difficult.”

“I’m fine.”

“Yeah right. Batman’s human. And here I always thought the big bad Bat had to at least be a mutant, but you’re just human. Rich, well equipped, and sturdy, sure, but human.” Ichabod wheeled away to grab a vial with a rubber cap connected to a syringe needle. “Let me at least take a blood sample and make sure there’s nothing left in your system. Hold out your arm for me.”

“That’s not necessary.”

“Are you the one working on a medical degree? No? Then shut up and give me your arm." They held up a length of rubber to tie off around Damian’s bicep, but were met with further resistance.

“I’m not questioning you, I just think you’ve done more than enough.”

“That’s not the issue here, man! Now just hold still! Don’t make me come up there! Super-Dude didn’t seem to like me straddling you last time. I’d hate to have to do it again.”

“What? No, Jon’s just—”

“Get away from him!”

Jon’s rage rang out, making Damian tense. Ichabod took the opportunity to affix the tourniquet and smiled at their work. “There we go! Now I’ll just—”

Jon zipped over in the blink of an eye and had Ichabod by the neck, holding them high off the ground. “Don’t you dare touch him again.”

Ichabod rasped but smiled down. “So…possessive. Won’t even…let…let…” Ichabod’s eyes rolled up into their skull.

“Jon, stop!”

Jon lowered himself and set Ichabod down on the chair. “She’s Scarecrow’s daughter,” he said darkly. “If I had known that, I’d have never—”

“I’m not,” Ichabod said quickly, catching their breath.

“Shut up. I took the time to look you up. Damian had all your files ready and on hand! You’re some geneticist freak!”

Ichabod scoffed. “I meant I’m not his daughter.” They stood up and dropped their pants shamelessly, making Jon yelp in shock and cover his eyes.

“Okay! Son! My bad!”

“Not his son either,” Ichabod confirmed. I’d strip down further, but it’s a pain to get my wrap on and off.”

Jon’s head was all but spinning.

“Ichabod is intersexual,” Damian explained. “They possess both male and female genitalia. It is very uncommon, especially Iatrogenic.”

Jon whimpered. “Okay. Um. I don’t know what…I’m a little—”

Ichabod put their pants back on and settled back into the chair. “I must say, it’s a little annoying to think you did research on me,” they said. “How much did you manage to dig up? I mean, for you to know a term like Iatrogenic. How much does that word win you in Scrabble?”

Damian looked at Jon and explained, “Ichabod isn’t a threat, Jon. All connections they have with Jonathan Crane are circumstantial. Their mother was an unfortunate one night stand that led to what can only be described as the most horrible pregnancy in history. Held captive by Scarecrow, forced through psychological torture in the form of constant exposure to the Fear Toxin, and put through experiments in order to create the perfect successor.”

Jon shuddered. “That’s…that’s awful.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Ichabod said lightly. “Poor dumb lady died by childbirth in the end. Believe it or not, Batman showed up on the day I was born and got me to the hospital. Eventually I wound up at the orphanage. Another victim of Gotham lowlifes, stuck in the system. Just another Tuesday in Gotham.”

Jon retreated back a few more steps. “But…but the file said you were studying chemical compounds. Like Scarecrow did. You know…I just thought—”

“You just thought wrong,” Ichabod said. “And it’s not like it bothers me. I’m no fan of the Scarecrow either, but I never knew the woman who birthed me. I’m my own person. My aptitude for medicine is learned. But I’m curious," they scrutinized Damian, somewhat annoyed by the amount of information he already had on them, "If you know that much already, how much else do you know about me?”

Damian shook his head. “You’ve proven to keep to yourself. I understood your genetic anomaly and recognized your lack of connection to your father, so I tried to afford you some privacy. And...well...someone close to me who is also...let's say a detective, already gave you her approval."

Ichabod grinned. “Cute. I guess that’s alright for now then. So, what do you say, Super-Spaz? Going to let me help my patient? Or are you still feeling threatened? Is he not gay? Bisexual maybe? I don’t really care. Like I said, it’d be a pain if my landlord up and died on me.”

Jon swallowed a lump in his throat and said, “Yeah. Okay. Sorry.”

Ichabod proceeded to draw blood from Damian without any further struggles. They tested it in silence and Damian shifted so that he was lying down again, fully aware that Jon wouldn’t let him go anywhere if Ichabod believed he was still in need of treatment.

“I never caught your name,” Ichabod broke the silence while running tests. “I mean, I get the whole secret identity shtick, but it doesn’t seem fair that I’ve been laid bare and Ding-Bat here has been exposed…or the other way around...”

“I’m Superman’s son,” Jon confirmed. “I…I don’t think I want you to know my full name, but you can call me Jon.”

“I won’t, but good to know.”

***

Damian was back to his usual self in two days time. Jon kept up with his responsibilities to the League but took a short leave from Metropolis in order to keep an eye on Damian. Ichabod had proved to be better at their job than could be expected, which made Jon wonder if Helena had planned this out more than she had let on. Plus, being around the manor more allowed Jon some semblance of security. He was happy to be close to Damian for whatever reason.

“Morning, Super-J. How’s it hanging?”

No matter what, Jon couldn’t get used to Ichabod. He’d noticed something off about Damian’s tenant from the get-go and while most of his concerns had been alleviated, they still had an air about them that made him cautious. “Good morning.”

“Care for a cup of coffee?” Ichabod offered. “Ding-Bat keeps some good grinds around…Oh, but you probably already knew that.”

Jon took a seat at the kitchen island. “What do you think I am to Damian?”

“A somewhat clingy friend with benefits,” they replied casually, “Why? What do you think I am to him?”

Jon scoffed. “A nuisance. I’m his boyfriend,” he corrected.

“You two a new couple then? I mean, I’ve been here almost two months and haven’t seen you at all…unless you were here when I got lost in the halls for a week, but you don’t seem like the quiet type.”

“We’ve been together for over fifteen years,” Jon said in a growl. “Not that it’s any of your business.”

“That long, huh? And you don’t live together? I mean, I get you watch over different cities, but you’re a Super. Can’t you just zip around wherever you want to? Not like it’s a hard commute.”

“Don’t talk like you know our situation.”

“I barely know my own situation,” Ichabod joked. They held a mug out towards Jon and smiled. “And yet you’re here snooping around me while he’s off doing who knows what.”

“He’s taking care of his father,” Jon said. “You’re not the only other resident of this mansion, you know.”

“Oh yeah. I’m not supposed to bug the old man. Kinda cool to think I live under the same roof as the actual Batman, though.” Jon stared at Ichabod as they dumped gratuitous amounts of sugar into their own mug. “Actually, living under the same roof as the current Batman’s pretty damned cool too. And now that I’ve seen that infirmary—” they let out a dramatic sigh, “—I don’t think I ever want to live anywhere else. The things I could accomplish here. It’s an absolute dream.”

“And what sort of things are you looking to accomplish?”

“Jon! Sweet, sweet, Jon! Love of my life, light of my days, stars of my sky!” Damian swept into the room with an uncharacteristically bright smile. “It is soooo wonderful to see you this morning!”

Jon stared at Damian gaping.

“Ooh! It worked! Tell me, Dingy, how are you feeling?” Ichabod asked, suddenly holding a pen to scribble on his palm.

“Like I’ve never seen the sky before today! Everything’s so bright and wonderful! But, of course, nothing is as wonderful as my man!”

Jon glared at Ichabod. “What. Did. You. Do?”

“I tested a harmless little drug by putting it in with his painkillers. It should raise the production rate of dopamine and endorphins while temporarily stimulating targeted parts of the amygdala and calming others. It’s still in the works. Considering the stimulation in the brain, it could have gone either way. Looks like it went well, though.”

“You can’t just test drugs on—”

Damian rushed over to Jon and threw his arms around him in a hug. “Mmm. I’m so happy you’re here. I love you so much.”

Jon blushed hotly.

“Huh.” Ichabod scribbled something on his hand. “May induce feelings of passion…little different from what I was going for.”

“What on earth were you going for?” Jon asked as Damian nuzzled his nose up behind his boyfriend’s ear. “Whoooaaa, easy Dami.”

“I was going for joy and serenity. Not…huh. You know, a lot of the same things associated with joy are also associated with…Well, at least you’re here!”

“Why were you trying to make him happier?” Jon asked as he gently put his hand between Damian’s mouth and his own neck.

“Frankly, I wanted to see if I even could. He’s so dark and broody. And it’ll be easier to test this out before he’s back to work as Batman.” Ichabod downed their cup of coffee-flavored sugar in one gulp and ran off. “Have fun! Tell me if anything unusual happens!”

“This is unusual!” Jon called out after him. “Damian, you’re not yourself right now. You should—whoa!” He leapt off the stool when Damian’s hand fished into his pajama pants. “Haa! You’re definitely not feeling like yourself!”

“No, I’m not,” Damian agreed. “But I’m still me. You’re still you. And I haven’t been fucked in almost two months. Now, how are you going to fix that?” Damian still had an unnerving smile on his face, but Jon would be lying if he said he wasn’t a little sexually frustrated as well. Especially since the last time they had sex had ended so badly. “Come on. I’ll let you do whatever you want.”

Damian hardly had time to gasp when he found himself up in his bedroom with Jon pinning him to the bed. “You’re going to regret that offer,” Jon growled, sliding his hands up under Damian’s shirt.

Damian moaned softly and the sound seemed to have a direct effect on Jon’s dick. Too eager to think straight, he ripped Damian’s shirt clean off and began sucking on a nipple.

“J-Jon! Jon wait!”

Jon froze and groaned, not appreciative of the sudden brakes Damian had hit. “D, don’t get me wrong, but you’d better have a good reason to—”

“Let me up and close your eyes.”

“Damiii—”

“Just do it. If you do it, maybe I’ll consider spooning with you after.”

Jon smirked. “That’s a ridiculous bargaining chip.”

“Is it working?”

Jon closed his eyes. “It is.”

Jon listened intently as Damian went about the room, no doubt getting a few toys that they hadn’t used in a long time. Jon’s heart fluttered at the thought of Damian maybe even using something new. The sound of metal clattering made him bite his lip with anticipation.

“No peeking, right? And X-ray vision counts.”

“If you keep me waiting much longer, I’m going to have to.”

“Well…don’t open your eyes, but hurry up and lose the clothes.”

Jon chuckled softly and obliged. He tossed his boxers in the direction of Damian’s voice and got an unusually gleeful snicker out of it. “I’ve got to admit, this is kind of nice.”

“What, me initiating?”

“Oh, good to hear the snark hasn’t faded. No, I meant it’s nice to see you so happy.”

“It feels a little unnatural,” Damian admitted. “But it’s nice to really want this for a change.”

“Huh?”

Jon opened his eyes just as Damian locked his hands behind his back with a pair of cuffs. “Hey, I said no peeking.”

As much fun as Jon was having, he really didn’t like what Damian had said. “You can’t just drop a bomb like—uhn.” Jon felt strange. He looked over at Damian only to get a blindfold over his eyes. “H-hey. Wait, we have to talk…what did you do?”

“I’ve had a soft kryptonite light hidden in my room for years now that I’ve just been dying to try out. I think today’s the day.”

“Damian, wait, please. This is something we need to talk about!”

Damian kissed Jon’s collar bone and pushed him back onto the bed. “I don’t want to. I just want to enjoy this.” He continued to kiss a trail down Jon’s neck, his pectorals, his abdomen…

“Damian…Hang on. I don’t…ah…” Jon’s knees tried to come together, but Damian held them apart and proceeded to fasten something around Jon’s hard member. “What’s…what’re you…?”

“You’re going to want to keep breathing, love.”

Jon sucked in a sharp breath as Damian slipped a couple of fingers into him and slowly worked him open. Unable to see, Jon was weak to the sensations and Damian was more than happy to make him feel more. While still spreading him open, he licked the base of Jon’s cock, making his boyfriend let out a strained yelp. “T-take it off. Please…Damian…”

“Ohh, come on. We’re just getting started.” Damian slid in another finger and Jon’s cock bounced as he moved his hips, working himself on Damian’s fingers. “And it’s been so long since you’ve let me do this.”

“I didn’t say you could—ah!” Jon braced a foot on Damian’s shoulder and pushed against him. “Please…please…”

“Please what, beloved? Use your words.”

There was something on Jon’s mind. Something Damian had said that was upsetting him. Right? He couldn’t think. It had been a really long time since they’d done any kryptonite play. It’d been too long. And when one of Damian’s fingers pressed against his prostate, his back arched and he cried out. “Enough! Not fingers. Damian, please!”

Damian took his fingers out and got off of the bed. Jon writhed a bit, searching for warmth. For stimulation. “You look good, Jon,” Damian said lushly, giving his position away. “I like you like this. I prefer you at my mercy.” He stepped around and raked his fingers through Jon’s hair roughly. “It was always supposed to be this way. I’m much happier like this. Aren’t you?”

“We…we have to…talk…”

Damian affixed a gag over Jon’s mouth and whispered in his ear, “I want to hear you, Jon, but not if you’re going to ruin this. Let me hear you make a few…” he pressed the tip of a lubricated dildo to Jon’s entrance, “…different sounds.”

Jon moaned loudly as Damian pushed the dildo deep into his ass, holding it in place as the tip pressed into his prostate. His body jerked from the stimulation and he ground against it, riding it in order to feel it even more. When his breathing started to calm down, Damian flipped a switch and the dildo began to vibrate with a powerful pulse. Jon whimpered and continued to grind against it. Damian crawled into the bed behind him and pressed himself as close against Jon’s back as possible. “Here you go, beloved. I’ll spoon you for as long as you’d like.”

Jon sobbed softly but pressed his ass against Damian as much as he could. Damian’s own erection ground against Jon and he held him lovingly in his arms. They stayed like that, basking in each other’s presence, until Jon was shaking and moaning loudly. Only then did Damian pull out the dildo, coaxing a pathetic whimper out of Jon. Next Damian tugged gently on the straps of the gag. “You ready to be a little more forthcoming with me?”

Jon pushed his head back under Damian’s chin and made a pleading sound.

With the gag removed, Damian pushed the same fingers he’d had inside of Jon earlier into his mouth, getting him to suck on them lasciviously. “Good boy. You want to be good for me, don’t you? You want to give me some pleasure for a change?”

“Yes! Rao, yes, Dami,” Jon breathed out around Damian’s fingers.

“That’s good. Very good.” Damian slid the blindfold off and rolled onto his back, finally taking his boxers off and letting his flagpole fly. “Get up here and ride me.”

Jon struggled a bit, still overstimulated and unable to use his hands for much more than basic balance, but managed to maneuver himself up so that he was straddling Damian. Damian smiled deviously as Jon tried to align himself with Damian’s stone hard cock. Every failed attempt drew another whine out. Poor guy was desperate, but seeing him try so hard made Damian even happier, so he wasn’t about to give him any help. Not to mention, seeing Jon’s restricted member twitching and leaking ever so slightly as he continued to try to position himself was a treat on its own.

Damian’s tip finally pushed through and he caught Jon’s hips, allowing him to slowly swallow him to the hilt. Jon lurched forward, actually crying against Damian. “Please…please…”

“I want us to come together for once. You ride me past my limit so often. It’s my turn to make you wait for it,” Damian explained. “The harder you work, the faster this can be. But beloved, I do so love to make you wait.”

Jon nibbled at Damian’s clavicle hungrily before sitting back up and rocking his hips, getting a reaction from Damian. Jon smiled, but Damian bucked his hips once and it was all he could do to keep from shouting in painful ecstasy. He wanted to come. He could think of little past that.

And he loved it.

He loved Damian. There was no question. For all of his flaws, his differences, and for the darkness he held inside, Jon loved him. Jon wanted to protect him from everything, but he knew there was nothing that he could do. Super or not, Damian Wayne was always supposed to be in control. As much as it made Jon feel needed to have some dominance in their sex life, this was right. This was what was always supposed to be. Jon was too focused on getting what he wanted. Damian wanted to bring them both to the peak, push Jon past it, and take them over together. It was beautiful, and it was sad to think that he didn’t feel free to do it more often.

Tears streamed down Jon’s face as he lifted himself up from his knees and carefully dropped back down, taking Damian’s full length again.

“You’re so beautiful,” Damian breathed, his face beet red as it looked longingly up at Jon. “I love seeing you like this.”

Damian Wayne—the very same man who had nothing but harsh words after sex—was using pillow talk. The thought was enough to make Jon feel overwhelmed with joy. He wanted to be good for Damian. He wanted to be called beautiful. He wanted to get so lost in the moment that there would be no going back. Now, riding his beloved’s dick, he could think of nothing in the world more perfect.

“Stop.” Damian’s command was finite. Jon, all but shaking, stopped moving and hunched forward. Damian pulled him closer and slid himself out, leaving Jon feeling empty and exposed. Damian unlatched the handcuffs and cast them aside. With his hands finally free, Jon cupped Damian’s face and held it as he kissed him, hungry and needy. Damian reciprocated, but his hands were busily removing the binds on Jon’s cock. When that was off, Damian kept his hand around Jon’s shaft, squeezing uncomfortably tight.

“I…I can’t…”

“Shhh. You’re doing wonderfully. Now, put your hand around mine and let’s do this together.”

Jon didn’t need to be told twice. He had Damian’s cock in his hand and he stroked to the pace that Damian set. Every motion threatening to put him over, but Damian’s firm grip keeping him completely under his control. Damian’s head arched back against the pillow as he orgasmed and the sight of it alone might have been enough for Jon. The two of them came together; rivulets of cum landing on Damian’s abdomen. As the final drops fell between them, Damian released Jon and he collapsed on the bed next to him.

“That was…Damian I…I—”

“Shhh. Don’t ruin this.” Damian closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths. Jon, still feeling the glow from their session, moved closer to Damian’s side, hoping to kiss him back into the mood, but Damian swung his legs off of the bed. “Wait here.”

Jon felt again, empty.

Damian flipped a hidden switch behind his dresser and the soft light in the room clicked off. Jon felt his strength return and, for a moment, considered flying over to Damian and taking him again where he stood. Maybe fucking him against the wall. Gentleness be damned. He felt split open, now he would do the same to Damian.

But that seemed wrong. That would ruin what had been perfect.

Damian stepped into his bathroom and Jon heard the water running. He sighed, recognizing that, even after it all, Damian still needed to feel clean. But couldn’t they at least shower together? Then he could take Damian in the—

“Patience is a virtue, Jon. If you come in here before I tell you to, I’ll be very disappointed in you.”

Jon smirked. For non-supers, the Bats always seemed capable of reading minds.

He let himself breathe. Relax. Bask in the smell of Damian still lingering on the bed. He fingered his own ass, still feeling the need to do more, but understanding that he couldn’t just take advantage of his partner at that time. It had all been so perfect. He could still feel Damian inside of him. Could still taste Damian’s mouth. His fingers. Him. Feel his hand, coaxing him over. Hear his powerful voice—the voice of Batman—walking him through the whole thing.

“Come in, Jon.”

Jon stopped abruptly and floated off of the bed and over to the bathroom. There Damian was running his hand over the surface of the sudsy water in his jacuzzi tub, sitting on the outside of it. His hair was wet, indicating that he had cleaned himself off before filling the tub, and his wet and naked body, laced with scars that mapped his life, was beauty personified. Damian looked back at Jon and smiled. “Oh good, you’re already ready,” he commended, eyes drawn to Jon’s restored erection. “Get in the tub, you big dope.”

Jon did as he was told, easing into the pleasantly hot water until he was little more than a head with his arms hanging over the sides of the jacuzzi. Damian then stepped in and Jon watched quietly as Damian eased down into Jon’s lap, carefully positioning himself and slowly taking Jon’s erection until he was sitting on top of him, completely filled, and struggling to lean back against Jon’s chest without moaning.

“You’re beautiful,” Jon whispered, putting his arms gently around Damian. “The most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

Damian let his head fall back against Jon’s shoulder and he let out a throaty laugh. “Never a word I associated myself with.”

They stayed like that, warm and connected, relaxing in the tub until the bubbles were mostly gone and the only warmth remaining was each other. All Jon could think was how lucky he was, how perfect Damian was, and how he wished every day could be just like that.


	3. Rising Heat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Ichabod now a part of the team, things seem to have gotten better for Damian. But all at once, one constant reminder of his forbidden relationship shows up and brings things crashing down around him again.
> 
> Still, this time he's got Ichabod to help him carry on, as both Damian and Batman. Of course, Ichabod's methods are unorthodox and lead to problems of their own. The real question is: can Damian survive having Ichabod around?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Icky FTW again! Getting more and more proud of my little menace. Comments have been driving me to push this one forward as well! The support is fantastic!
> 
> Also, admittedly, I am NOT used to writing this much smut! Hell, I've done a little something with every chapter now, haven't I? Yeesh! Special thanks to QueenOfThePirates for helping me to push through it (damnit, I know there's a pun there...)! Girl you bring out the best of the worst in me and I love it!
> 
> Let me know if there's anything you guys would like to see and I'll see what I can do as well! After all, this has been a story I've played around with for a while. I'm not opposed to some little things whether they're attached to the main plot I'm working on or not...

Jon couldn’t even think about sleeping. It was the middle of the day. They’d had the most wonderful morning, and then Damian, in all his exhaustion, passed out in bed and let Jon hold him. Seeing Damian sleeping so soundly, Jon didn’t dream of waking him. He was a sight to behold; fucked out and happy. Jon was still a little nervous about Ichabod, but he hoped that the happy drug Damian had taken would reach his dreams as well and give him a pleasant sleep.

The front door opening made Jon sit up curiously. His movement was enough, unfortunately, to awaken his partner. “Hm? I’m not expecting anyone,” Damian muttered drowsily, already using the contacts he’d forgotten to take out to check the cameras at the main door.  
Damian didn’t have to say anything. Jon could hear the exchange.

“Uhh, can I help you?” Ichabod would have to be taught about security at the Manor. Answering the door for strangers was a huge red flag.

“Can I help YOU? Who are you?”

Jon was out of bed like a whirlwind, clothes on and in an absolute panic.

Damian groaned and got out of bed, searching the room for his own clothes. He settled on jeans and a solid black T-shirt. “Calm down. You can’t act up. That will—”

“He knows. He knows. I can’t…Oh Rao…”

“Jon, he’s known for years. He just thinks it ended. If you freak out, it’s going to make this worse.”

“Then why’s he here? Damian, this is bad! This is—”

“You’ve been away. He’s probably just curious about why. Or he’s here to see Father. Calm down. You’ve done nothing wrong.”

“Of course I have!”

Damian’s jaw set. Jon’s outburst hung in the air like the resonance of a gunshot.

“Then fly out of here. I can handle this. I always do.”

Jon understood what he’d said and tried hard to backtrack. “No…Damian I don’t mean…It’s just that—”

“Look big guy, I don’t know what your problem is. I live here,” Ichabod said rudely, addressing the houseguest.

“No, you don’t. And I suggest you explain what you’re doing here before we have a problem, young lady.”

Jon slapped his forehead. “Your roommate’s in trouble. You should—”

But Damian had already slammed the door to his room. Nobunaga jumped on his shoulders as he passed by her at the bannister and he made his way downstairs to the entryway where Clark had forced his way inside and was still grilling Ichabod.

“Kent, you would do well to not bother my tenant,” Damian declared, announcing his presence.

Clark looked puzzled as Damian joined them. “Tenant? Oh! I’m so sorry! You really DO live here!” The usual clumsy reporter persona came out very suddenly, giving Ichabod a bit of whiplash. “Pleased to meet you. I’m Clark Kent, an old friend of the family.”

Ichabod eyed Clark curiously. “You don’t say…You know, you look a lot like—”

Damian cleared his throat loudly. “Ichabod here has been living with me for the past two months,” he explained. “Helena thought it might be healthy for me to have someone else occupying the large expanse that is my home.”

“Oh. I suppose that makes sense. Well Ickle…Icky…It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Not a fan of the classics, are you? Ick’s fine.”

“Not a…what?”

Ichabod shrugged and wandered off, content to find something else to do.

“She’s…a character…Where did Helena find her?”

“Ick’s their own kind of different,” Damian muttered. “I’m afraid I have already given Father his medications this morning so it’s likely that he’ll be very tired.”

“I understand. I just…Damian, were you injured recently?”

Damian scoffed. “All the time. Why?”

“Sorry to pry. I just see that you’ve had medical treatment.” Damian understood that, at that very moment, he was being X-rayed by his boyfriend’s bigoted father. The thought was more than a little annoying. “It’s good to see that you’ve gotten proper care.”

“Ichabod’s a med student,” Damian decided to say, getting a surprised look from Superman. “They’re no Robin, but unlike Father, I have no intentions of ever having a partner in that way.”

“That’s…Does your father know?”

“My father has no say in my actions. I am a grown man. The decision was mine to make.”

“But if she knows about you then—”

“I’m not in a mood to be interrogated. If you’d like to visit with Father, you know where to find him. Do me a favor and don’t mention anything that might upset him. If he asks, Gotham is being well cared for, the League is doing well, Grayson is in Bludhaven keeping busy, and Pennyworth is making dinner.”

Clark caught Damian’s shoulder before he could follow Ichabod. “One more thing. Why is my son upstairs?”

Damian glared at him. “You know damned well why.”

“I was watching over Damian while he was recovering,” Jon claimed as he floated down the stairs. “I wanted to make sure that he was okay. I was the one who found him when he was injured, after all.”

Clark eyed Damian suspiciously before saying, “That’s all you were doing?”

“Dad, he’s my best friend. I was worried. Didn’t you used to worry about Bruce?”

He accepted that answer and walked towards the stairs. “Your mother has been texting you. Do me a favor and at least let her know you’re alive,” he said as he passed Jon on his way to the master bedroom.

Jon nodded, almost holding his breath, and stayed completely still until the sound of a door closing could be heard.

“Damian—”

“I’ve recovered rather well. Your attentions are no longer necessary. You should go home.”

“Damian, would you just—”

“There is nothing to discuss, Kent. I have work to tend to. Thank you for your concern, but I will be just fine.”

Jon nodded and took his leave.

Nobunaga meowed at Damian softly, so he held his hand up for his companion to nuzzle. “Come now. It’s time to attend to our tenant.” He located Ichabod in the library and Nobunaga leapt off his shoulders as soon as he got too close to the door as it was Tokugawa’s territory. “I think it’s time you and I had a talk about what you’ve learned here,” he said upon finding Ichabod draped over a chair with a copy of the Human Bone Manual’s latest edition in hand.

“Can we talk about the big, pushy, houseguest?” Ichabod asked, setting their book aside. “I mean, I thought Super-Jerk could be a—”

“Just…follow me.” Damian went to the bookshelf door to the Cave, pulled out an old edition of The Complete Cases of Sherlock Holmes and placed his index finger on the empty space on the shelf so that a hidden scanner could verify his print. Then, upon returning the book, the shelf popped open just a little at one side. Damian opened it the rest of the way and invited Ichabod to follow him.

“That…was amazing. You know, must people only dream of secret passageways behind bookshelves.”

Damian closed the hidden passage behind them and said, “I’ll update it and the other entrances so that you’ll be able to access the Cave as well. If you’re going to be in on this, you might as well be in on it all.”

Ichabod rushed to the main chair in front of the Bat Computer and spun around gleefully. “Does that mean I can use this for homework too?”

Damian shrugged. “You know what? As long as you help me…as long as you help Batman, do what you need to down here.”

Ichabod squeaked and leapt out of the chair, hurrying back to the infirmary where he’d helped Damian before. “Can I do research here?”  
“I encourage it. Just…do me a favor and don’t test things on me anymore?”  
“Sure. How hard could that be?”

***

As Damian’s acting assistant, Ichabod found that their responsibilities were numerous and cumbersome. Put together as Batman pretended to be, there were many aspects of his work that he didn’t even consider. These were the things that Ichabod vowed to pay attention to. Ensuring Batman’s continued safety was a priority but making his job easier just sort of came naturally.

Since Damian had given Ichabod free reign over all the resources available in the Bat-Cave, they put their true passion to the test.

With each passing week Ichabod had worked up some new serum that would quickly become a regular item in Batman’s repertoire of weapons.

The first serum was basically just a tranquilizer with the potency necessary to knock out even the most beefed up Venom addicts, but still gentle enough to use on even the smaller opponents without causing significant harm.

“T.K.O. Juice,” Ichabod had fondly named it.

The next concoction acted as a fast-acting, temporary cure for gene splicing. This way, if Batman encountered any Splicers as dangerous as the Komodo gang again, he could temporarily make them regular people, rendering their bites useless. The actual process of undoing splicing took more time and effort, so the most that Ichabod could offer was a temporary option, but it helped them to work towards a more permanent solution should the need arise.

“Splice Splitter.”

The third concoction had been, unfortunately tested on Damian (once again) when Ichabod had been pulling an overnighter and confused the compound with coffee, pouring Damian a cup when he came to check on progress in the morning.

Damian hadn’t appreciated the nearly immediate and powerful effects of the modified Poison Ivy drug. Not a minute after sipping at the most unusually sweet coffee he’d ever had, he dropped too his knees, his whole body overwhelmed with an intense heat that knocked the wind right out of him.

“Ick…what…what did you…?”

“Oh shoot. Okay. This is okay! Probably…”

Damian couldn’t even see straight. He had a built-up immunity to Ivy’s old toxin, but this seemed to ignore that completely and the risks weren’t lost on him. “I can’t…”

“Ahhh right. Um. Breathe for me.”

Like a vice had been released from his chest, Damian began breathing deeply, filling his lungs with oxygen.

“Yikes. Okay, going to see what I can do to make sure that this still allows basic body functions. Otherwise, make sure you tell people to breathe when you use this on them.”

Damian wanted to yell at Ichabod. To tell them never to use that drug again and that Batman would never use something like this on anyone, but all he could focus on was breathing and the heat consuming his body.

“Let’s see…Um…On your feet.”

Damian’s body moved almost of its own accord, getting him up so that he was standing before Ichabod.

“Ooh. Dance a little for me.”

What happened next was something Damian would have to make sure to wipe from the Cave’s security feed as soon as he had control over himself again.

“Okay, stop dancing. Let’s see just how potent this stuff is, shall we? Tell me who you love.”

“Jonathan Kent.” He couldn’t help himself. It was all he could do to hope that Ichabod wouldn’t hold Jon’s family name over his head at any point in the near future.

“Tell me your favorite book.”

“Great Expectations.”

Ichabod laughed. “Okay, okay, let’s make this harder. Tell me what scares you most.”

“Isolation.”

That put a damper on Ichabod’s mood. “Seriously? Elaborate.”

This was a conversation Damian had never intended to have with Ichabod, but he couldn’t stop himself. It was like his own body threatened to betray him if he didn’t comply with Ichabod’s every order. “I…I’ve only…lost people…” Fighting it only made the heat feel more intense. “Mother had…no use for me…Pennyworth passed away. Kane died in the line of duty. Grayson…is beyond my reach…My old team has moved on. I…I can’t join the Justice League because of how it may impact Jon. My half sister had to return to her own universe. My father can’t even recognize me. So I fear that soon I will be…alone…”

Ichabod pursed their lips. “Oh boy. You’re going to be pissed about that one. My bad.” They put a hand on Damian’s shoulder and offered a smile. “If it means anything, you’re stuck with me for the foreseeable future.”

Damian had a few choice words to say on that matter, but his body still wouldn’t respond to him.

“Okay, not gonna lie, I have no idea how long this thing is supposed to last for,” Ichabod finally announced. “So, follow me to the infirmary, let’s get you laying down, and I’ll ask you a series of questions to evaluate the serum.”

Damian clicked his tongue—apparently the only form of protest he could afford—and followed Ichabod into the infirmary where very specific orders were given in order to get him onto the gurney.

“Tell me how you feel right now.”

“Hot,” Damian said quickly. “Like a bad fever. It gets worse if I try to defy you.”

“Interesting. That’s probably due to the nature of Poison Ivy’s old drug.” Ichabod picked up a scrap of paper and began jotting down notes. “Tell me if the heat is causing you pain, and if it is, give it a number on the scale of one through ten.”

“It is…uncomfortable, but the only pain was upon it first taking effect, and that may have been due to the inability to breathe.”

Ichabod nodded. “Fascinating. Tell me, do you feel at all stimulated in a sexual nature?”

Damian cringed. “The heat does act as a sort of aphrodisiac,” he admitted.

“Damn. Tried to get rid of that. At least it’s not painful. Tell me the instant anything gets painful, alright?”

“I don’t have a choice.”

Ichabod smirked. “You’re a much more agreeable research subject this way. Tell me, would you mind if I tested the physical limitations of this serum further, or would you prefer to play twenty questions while we wait for it to wear off?”

Damian wasn’t sure that he liked the idea of being so completely at Ichabod’s mercy, but it was also rather incredible that he was in such a state and the uses for such a serum could greatly outweigh his moments of discomfort in testing. “Let’s find the limitations,” he told Ichabod.

“Sweet. Sit up then.”

Damian did so.

“Now rub your stomach and pat your head.”

Ridiculous as the request was, Damian understood that it demonstrated his dexterity while under the serum’s influence. The temporary humiliation was nothing compared to what Ichabod could make him do.

“Okay, stop. Now get down on the floor and do twenty push-ups.”

Damian’s arms fell to his sides before he followed Ichabod’s commands to the letter. The heat was still prominent, but it didn’t seem to prevent him from his usual range of motion and he was able to perform the task without issue. Once the push-ups were done, however, his arms just sort of went limp and he collapsed on the floor.

“Oops. Uhh, get back on your feet.”

And he was standing before Ichabod again.

“Okay, so with no immediate command it looks like the subject will go into a neutral state. Keep that in mind when giving commands. Specificity is key.” Ichabod scribbled out notes like mad. “Let’s try something a little harder. Pick up that scalpel and press the tip into your left thumb.”

Damian was a little worried when his body complied with this command. The blade sliced easily into his finger, but he continued to press it deeper.

“This hurts,” Damian said with a wince, complying with the earlier command to mention any pain. “It started at a three and is progressively getting worse.”

“Take the scalpel away from your thumb and return it to the tray.”

Damian did just that and Ichabod retrieved the coagulant spray and a small amount of bandage, taking care of his thumb while he waited for further orders, the heat still acting as a constant reminder of his state.

“Well the scary news is that it would seem you can make a person injure themselves while under the serum’s influence. Could come in handy, but can also make it a very dangerous weapon. Hmm. Help, Superman! Batman is in trouble!”

Damian’s eyes widened upon understanding what Ichabod was doing, but he couldn’t even protest. In no time Jon was rushing through one of the quick entrances to the cave.

“Blood! You’re bleeding! What happened? What’s going on?”

“I can’t believe that actually worked,” Ichabod exclaimed. “I need you to help me with some drug tests, Jonny-Boy.”

“No. No more drugs. Especially not in the experimental phase!” Jon protested.

“Tell him what you think of my current concoction.”

Damian shuddered against the desire to lie and found himself once again forced to speak. “It is brilliant and has great potential. It will absolutely be used on patrols in the future should these tests prove useful.”

Jon was astounded. “You don’t give compliments…Are you feeling okay?”

“Tell Damian to do something,” Ichabod suggested. “Anything that comes to mind.”

Jon eyed Ichabod suspiciously. “Why?”

“It’s important. For the sake of research. I’m not asking you to hurt him.”

“He’s bleeding. Did you do something to him?”

“Tell him to do something and I’ll tell you.”

Jon rolled his eyes and looked back at the unusually stiff Damian. “Okay then. Kiss me.”

Damian’s eyes narrowed. The heat remained, but his body didn’t feel the involuntary impulse that it did whenever Ichabod gave him a command. It was a clever test, but it made him feel guilty for not showing Jon the requested affection.

“What, being stubborn? Kiss me.”

Damian’s eyes flicked to Ichabod desperately.

“Excellent! We’ll have to test the serum again at a later point with another party present upon initial ingestion so that we can see if it’s cued to my voice or if it’s cued to the first voice one hears. Then I’ll see if I can fix it so that it only responds to certain voices. That way we can prevent collateral damage if someone else demands something more dangerous of the victim in question!”

Jon glared at Ichabod in a fit of rage. “You already drugged him? What the hell is wrong with you?”

“It was an accident. We’re just testing the effects now. Happy accident I guess.”

“Fix him!”

“I don’t know how. It’s just got to wear off. It should. If it stays in his system longer than four hours, I’ll see to making something to reverse the effects.”

“Four hours? Damnit! Damian, are you okay? Talk to me!”

Damian’s eyes flicked to Ichabod again, which annoyed Jon further.

“Ooh, this could be good. Speak freely.”

Damian took a deep breath and said, “I’m fine, Jon. These experiments are a bit ridiculous, but they aren’t without reason. This serum could be truly beneficial. I would like to know the full extent of that usefulness, and since I am already affected by it, it makes sense to allow Ichabod to continue their tests.”

Jon didn’t seem convinced. “Just what does it do?”

“It…gives them total control over me, as I’m coming to understand.”

“Yup! Check this out! Kiss Super-Jerk-Off until I tell you to stop.”

Damian’s eyes widened briefly before he threw himself against Jon’s chest and stole a deeply passionate kiss. Jon, taken by surprise, took a step back only for Damian to follow him, keeping contact as much as possible. Jon turned his head to the side and Damian continued to kiss at his cheek desperately. “D, cut it out! This isn’t you!” He took hold of Damian’s shoulders and held him firmly away. Damian struggled to get free, his head slowly getting brighter and brighter red.

“It…hurts,” he said while continuing to try to press his lips to any part of Jon that he could reach. “Four…but getting worse…”

“What? What does that mean?”

Ichabod sighed. “Stop trying to kiss him.” They took down a few more notes. “Inability to perform a task seems to bring pain. Guess that means you can’t ask someone to lick their elbow without causing some problems.”

“Wait! That was hurting you? This can hurt you? Damnit, Ick, cut it out!”

“Tell me the identity of Superman.”

“Clark Kent.” Damian wanted to punch Ichabod for that one.

“Tell him what you really think of me.”

“Ichabod is a nuisance, but they’re also highly intelligent and a great asset. I don’t regret including them in my work as Batman. I…trust them…implicitly.” Damian blinked a few times, surprised to hear his honest thoughts like that.

Jon groaned. “I just want to protect you.”

Damian looked to Ichabod.

“Okay, this one’s going to get me in some serious trouble, so I’m going to layer it a bit,” Ichabod began. “If he tries to harm me, you will disregard my next command and get in the way.”

Damian nodded reluctantly.

“Alright then. Damian, without assistance, fly up to the ceiling.”

“Huh? He can’t—”

“It hurts!” Damian exclaimed, his whole body going stiff. “E-eight! Ah! It hurts!”

Jon rushed at Ichabod and Damian got between them quickly, panting.

“What the hell just happened?”

“Tell him.”

Damian glared at Ichabod but continued to do what was asked of him. “Icky just tested if the serum would continue to act if an impossible task was given. The pain reaction suggests that it does bring harm. Valuable information to know.”

Ichabod had Damian continued to perform numerous menial and simple tasks until they were certain that the serum had worn off.

“Nice. A full hour of control for just a sip. Let’s call that approximately a tablespoon dosage. Ingestion caused nearly immediate activation. First step necessary is to command subject to breathe. Awesome! This has been really productive,” Ichabod announced, looking over their notes before taking a bite of the French toast they’d had Damian make while under the influence.

“Can we all agree that Ick shouldn’t do anymore human testing?” Jon brought up, looking somehow more exhausted than Damian.

“Actually, further testing could mean having the serum available sooner for Batman. And, since your biology is a little different, it might be smart to test its effects on you,” Damian noted, settling into a seat next to Ichabod with a plate of food for himself. He constantly checked his hand movement to ensure that he was in full control of himself. The heat was nothing more than a lingering memory at that point. And, as shocking as the whole process had been, the benefits far outweighed anything that Ichabod had made him do.

Jon’s opinion on the matter, however, was obviously different. “Hell no. I’m not Dr. Frankenstein here’s Guinea pig!”

“It really breaks my heart that neither you nor your Super-Bigoted dad have used my name for its intended literary reference when coming up with things to address me as,” Ichabod joked as he slipped something into Damian’s hand under the table. “Honestly, it’s the only thing the sperm donor gave me that I take any amusement from.”

“You’re changing the subject. Again. Do you even realize that you’re doing that?” Jon sighed and slumped into the chair across from them. “I’m not trying to play the bad guy here. Why do you guys make me seem like I am? I just want to make sure that Damian’s safe.”

“Well, you could just move in and keep a close eye on me,” Ichabod said casually, waving their fork around. “Plus, that way I wouldn’t have to worry about calling for you whenever I do something stupid to your boyfriend.”

“Do you even hear yourself? Damit, Damian, they’re nuts! They’re PLANNING to make me lose my mind!”

Damian rolled his eyes and got up to pour Jon a mug of coffee. “Ichabod’s just trying to bait you. Though they have a point. It would all be much easier if we weren’t hiding all the time.”

“You know why we have to keep on the down low,” Jon whined, accepting the warm mug as Damian handed it to him. “Father will come around.”

“Yeah, sure. If the last decade and a half mean anything, I’m sure he’ll change his outlook any day now,” Ichabod said, their voice dripping with sarcasm.

Jon scoffed and took a drink of his coffee before adding, “You’re the newcomer, Ick. Don’t pretend to understand…Under…”

Damian caught the mug and quickly said, “Breathe.”

Jon sucked in a quick breath, his face already changing to a deep red color. “You…you didn’t…”

Ichabod was already writing away in their notebook. “Good good. Looks like he responds to your voice. Jon, tell me your last name.”

Jon’s eyes fixed on Ichabod, an angry glare prominent, but he didn’t say a word.

“Awesome!” Ichabod scribbled down even faster. “Subjects respond to the person who gives them their first command! This is golden! Okay, I’ll see what I can do about cueing that up to a specific frequency you’ll have to set your cowl to so that they won’t take commands from anyone but Batman. Ha!”

“Apologize for what you said when your father was here last,” Damian demanded.

Jon’s eyes widened. “I’m sorry. Of course I’m sorry! D, I never wanted to make you feel—”

“Shut up.”

Jon looked pained.

Ichabod tore a page out of their notebook and handed it to Damian. “Here’s a little checklist of things I need you to test for me. If anything comes up that I didn’t note, please write it down. Otherwise, have fun!”

“Tell Ichabod thank you, and make it sound sincere,” Damian said coyly.

Jon winced but said in a friendly tone, “Thank you, Ick.”

Damian ran his hand through Jon’s hair lovingly. “A guy could get used to this.”

Ichabod cleared their throat loudly. “If you’re about to jump each other in the kitchen, I’d rather not know about it. Just find me when the testing is done or if any emergencies come up. I’ll be working on homework in the cave…and, well, tweaking the serum a bit.”

Jon stared at Damian indignantly as they were left alone in the kitchen.

“Speak freely,” Damian commanded.

“I am so pissed off right now.”

“Wouldn’t have guessed.”

“You…you were really underselling the heat this drug made you feel…”

“It does simulate sexual stimulation, yes. I am just good about remaining calm in such situations.”

Jon bit his lip. “I hate this.”

“And I love you. Tell me if you believe that.”

“I want to.”

Damian’s eyes widened.

“Fuck, D, this is a lot to—”

“Elaborate on your answer.”

“You…You don’t need me. We both know that. I’m nothing but trouble for you. Our relationship has kept you from your full potential. All I ever do is hurt you. My father’s inability to see past his stupid old-fashioned ideals has been a challenge we haven’t overcome. We’re bad for each other, and I know that you and your logical mind know that already.”

Damian felt frozen in place.

“D…Please, you know I’m only saying this because—”

“Tell me how you really feel about me.”

Jon felt the heat intensify. He didn’t know what to say, and his silence made his body ache. He had to obey the command. Why couldn’t he? Why didn’t he have an answer? Why couldn’t he just tell Damian what he wanted to hear. “You’re…hurting me.”

Damian didn't seem to care in that moment. “Tell me.”

The heat felt like it was constricting around Jon like a snake, demanding answers from him. He wanted to reach out to Damian. Hold him close. But his body wasn’t his to control. He just had to answer. He had to respond.

“I’m afraid…”

Damian sighed. “Well, this wasn’t as much fun as Icky had in mind, obviously.” He looked at the sloppily written checklist and grimaced. “Rub your stomach and pat your head.”

Jon complied with that command easily, but the heat continued to threaten further harm as he continued to ignore Damian’s earlier command. “Dami, I’m afraid of…I’m afraid of losing you.”

Damian rolled his eyes. “Stop. Shut up. I mean, keep breathing, but just…stop everything else.”

The non-specificity of the command was shocking. Jon collapsed on the floor, unmoving except for the steady rising and falling of his chest.

“Oops. On your feet. Look at me.”

Jon was back up, looking at Damian imploringly.

“Fine. Whatever. Say what you want to say, then shut up.”

“I love you. You know that. You’re my whole world. I hate being this unhealthy thing in your life but I cling to you anyways. I think you’d be happier without me, but I selfishly love you anyways.”

Damian took a deep breath. “We’re a damned mess. Take my hand and let me lead you.”

Jon nodded, taking Damian’s hand in his. Where their skin touched he felt like the heat concentrated. He found himself desiring more. He wanted to feel Damian’s touch all over. Wanted to bask in the glow of the healing heat that Damian provided rather than feel strangled by the torturous heat that the drug made him feel. But he couldn’t say that. Couldn’t speak out of turn. So he followed Damian out of the kitchen and into a random bedroom on the second floor.

“Undress and get on the bed,” Damian demanded. Jon started to move, still pulling on his hand. “Ah, let me go.” And Jon reluctantly released Damian’s hand to comply with the previous order. Damian closed the door and watched Jon strip out of his Superman suit, reveling in just how little it left to the imagination in the first place. “You know, the Batsuit has so many security measures, armor, extra tech, and more. It’s never been fair that Superman just gets to go around in spandex.”

Jon wanted to joke. Wanted to make light of the situation. Instead he quietly cursed Ichabod for having made such a thoroughly potent drug and settled himself onto the bed.

Damian smirked. “Tell me you love me.”

Jon was happy to. “I love you.”

“Tell me the truth about your feelings for me.”

Jon felt the heat intensify again but wasn’t sure if it was the drug or his body’s natural reactions given the situation. “I want you to myself. I want to be the only person you need. I don’t want there to be anyone else.”

Damian took his shirt off and crawled up onto the bed. “Tell me more.”

“I…I want to touch you. I want to be inside of you. I want to…I want you…Plain and simple. I. Want. You.”

Damian touched his hand to Jon’s cheek and the heat became so intense that Jon actually worried he’d pass out.

“Let’s make this really simple then, shall we? Short of hurting me, short of hurting yourself, show me exactly what you want to do to me.”

Jon smiled and pulled Damian up onto the bed before leaning over him, pressing him into the plush down comforter, kissing him hard. It crossed Jon’s mind just how nice it would be to pin Damian’s hands above his head and take what he wanted, but everywhere Damian touched felt like fire.

A small moan escaped from Damian and the sound made Jon’s heart skip a beat. Suddenly all he wanted was to hear all of Damian’s sounds. He moved slowly, kissing down Damian’s neck—nibbling playfully along his jawline on the way down—over his sternum, and down his abdomen. Damian kept his hands buried in Jon’s hair, massaging his scalp.

“I love you,” Jon breathed as he carefully pulled Damian’s pants and boxers down, revealing his half hard cock. “No matter what there is between us, I love you.”

Jon took Damian’s balls in one hand and kneaded them gently, coaxing more sounds out of his boyfriend. Every gasp and moan had a direct link to Jon’s own stiff erection, but the wasn’t for him. His order was clear: show Damian what he wanted to do to him, and he wanted to break him down. He wanted to shatter him and rebuild him just for himself.

“J-Jon…This is a little…”

“Shhh. I want to make you feel good.” Jon slid his right hand down Damian’s back, tracing along his spine and into the top of his crack. He used his other hand to spread Damian’s cheeks just enough for his middle finger to find the slight puckering rim of his hole so that he could circle the very tip of his finger around it. Damian swallowed a quiet exclamation and fidgeted slightly. Jon took his left hand and brought it back around to cup around Damian’s slowly rising member, stroking it while continuing to stimulate his hole.

“You’re so damned beautiful,” Jon breathed, nuzzling his nose right up to the base of Damian’s cock, inhaling the strong, musty scent of him. Knowing That this side of Damian was reserved just for him made the heat in his body intensify. He nearly forgot about the drug entirely until he flicked his tongue at Damian’s slit and a strained cry came out of Damian, grinding Jon to a screeching halt.

“N-no! Didn’t hurt! K-keep going! Ah!”

That was all Jon needed to resume. He continued to circle his finger around Damian’s hole, squeeze his balls, and lick at the tip of his cock. Every taste made him crave more. He adjusted his shoulders so that he was leaning over Damian’s hips and, just as he let Damian’s cock breech past his lips, he pushed his middle finger into Damian’s hole. The sound that came out of Damian was a strained mix between a cry of pain and an overly stimulated moan. Again, the drug prevented Jon from going further, the heat in his body threatening to boil over.

“F-fuck! Damnit! Don…Don’t stop! Fuck me! Jon! Beloved!”

Damian hadn’t begged like that in a long time, and it goaded Jon on. No longer feeling restrained, Jon pressed his finger in deeper, finding that sweet spot that made Damian’s head arch back and his breathing hitch. He continued to press against that spot as he took more into his mouth. He swirled his tongue, hollowed his cheeks, and sucked. Damian yelped, but now there was no stopping Jon. He’d been given permission and he had no intention of missing the opportunity.

The best way to do that was to stimulate Damian so much that he couldn’t even think to form words.

Jon kept his finger pressed firmly against Damian’s prostate as he pulled his head back and let Damian’s fully erect cock pop out of his mouth, making sure to lap up the pre-cum dripping from the slit. Then he moved his head to the side just enough that Damian’s warm member was resting against Jon’s cheek, and he used his ice breath to carefully blow on Damian’s sensitive pubis.

Jon could have sworn he saw the slight condensation come off of Damian as steam as he tried to buck his hips, failing to do so with Jon’s head pressed against him, holding him down.

“I…I can’t!”

Jon lifted his left hand up to Damian’s face, pressing his pointer and middle fingers against Damian’s mouth until he let them in and sucked on them. Saliva dripped from the corner of Damian’s lips messily and Jon wiped it with his thumb, pressing it back into his lover’s mouth. He shifted his head a little again so that he was blowing cool air on Damian’s lower abdomen, then he started to thrust his middle finger at an unforgiving pace, hitting Damian’s prostate again and again.

Damian’s breath caught and both of his hands gripped at Jon’s left arm, trying futilely to push the hand out of his mouth. As punishment, Jon pressed his fingers down just a bit harder on Damian’s tongue and licked at the cool part of his skin where he’d been playfully threatening to freeze him. Damian squirmed, overstimulated and desperate to move, but Jon knew how the strain of not moving could push Damian past all reason. After all, every touch still made him feel a hundred degrees hotter. He wanted to make Damian experience that without the help of some stupid drug.

While Jon kept up his unrelenting pace, Damian let out a deep, guttural sound that made Jon stop breathing altogether. He could feel Damian coming under him. The pressure buildup overflowing and dripping between them. Jon pulled his right hand out a little too quickly and caught Damian’s cock, holding it just a little too tight, stopping the flow. Damian whimpered, still desperate to move under Jon’s unbreakable hold. He reached down, trying to get himself free from Jon’s hold, but there was nothing that he could do.

“Bear with me, D. I’m just getting started.” He took his left hand out of Damian’s mouth and used it to slick his erection.

“Jon…Jon wait…”

Jon froze in place again and felt like his head would explode if he was left that way too long.

“I…I want you…your…”

Jon couldn’t help but smile. “You have to say it, love, or I won’t be able to help you.”

Damian didn’t verbalize well. He couldn’t even take a compliment well, let alone give one. Now, completely vulnerable like this, it wasn’t just Jon playing with him. As long as Ichabod’s new drug was active, Damian had to tell Jon exactly what he wanted, or it wouldn’t happen.

“It’s…it’s going to…hurt…”

“Then tell me to get lube. I’m at your mercy, love.”

Damian shuddered and Jon felt the strong desire to suck a little love mark into the skin over his collarbone.

“No…I…I want it to…hurt…”

Jon felt an intense desire to move, but fiery pain accompanied that desire. He grunted softly, trying not to show his discomfort, but Damian recognized the look in his eyes. “It’s hurting you now…isn’t it?”

“Y-yeah…I…want to…move…”

Damian tried to look smug, but his blown pupils betrayed how he really felt. “It’s okay. I can take it. Beloved, I want you to fuck me until I’m begging for you to stop.”

It was like a rubber-band had snapped.

Jon all but ripped Damian’s pants clean off, getting them out of the way. He kept his right hand wrapped around Damian’s cock, but moved Damian’s hips up just enough to position his own member at Damian’s entrance. Damian threw one leg over Jon’s shoulder to hold himself up, but it didn’t do him any good. One forceful movement had Jon fully sheathed inside of Damian, who stopped breathing from the painful pleasure of being speared while still mid orgasm.

“You’re beautiful. I want you all to myself.” Jon pulled out only to thrust right back in, as deep as he could get. Tears escaped Damian’s eyes as he clenched around Jon’s too-solid cock. He gave up trying to free his own member in favor of running his nails against Jon’s abdomen. He couldn’t hurt Jon. Couldn’t even break skin. But the thought was stimulating and Jon already felt too close to finishing. He started a brutal pace, a cruel part of his mind determined to ruin Damian right there, but a loving part wanting his boyfriend to have exactly what he wanted. “Tell me what you want,” Jon whispered, fully aware that Damian was in no mind to speak. “Tell me, and I’ll give it to you. I’ll give you anything. Damian…Damian…”

Damian bit his bottom lip so hard that it bled. Jon leaned forward, ignoring what likely had to be a tough stretch for his partner as the leg over his shoulder moved with him, and lapped up the blood before forcing his tongue into Damian’s mouth to share it. Damian reciprocated, sucking at Jon like he was an oxygen mask. It was too much.

“Tell me what you want,” Jon said again. “Tell me.”

“L…Let me…come…Please…”

Jon’s grip on Damian’s cock loosened and he began to stroke at the same pace as his thrusts, all-but milking Damian through his orgasm. The cry of ecstasy that came out of Damian put Jon over the edge and he came deep inside of his lover, filling him so much that it leaked out around him.

When he was done riding out his orgasm, Jon carefully maneuvered himself so that he was wrapped around Damian’s back, never removing himself from him. He wanted to lay like that forever. Maybe he really would have to thank Ichabod. They hadn’t made love like that in—

“Get out of me and get off the bed.”

Raspy as Damian’s voice sounded, it still held the authority of the drug and, to Jon’s dismay, he had no choice but to comply. Soon he was standing beside the bed looking like a scorned puppy. Damian moved to stand only to stumble. “D-damn…Carry me to the nearest shower.”

“Seriously?” Jon asked, though he was already lifting Damian into his arms. “Can’t we just bask in this for a minute?”

Damian pecked Jon on the cheek and said, “That was…something else…but I still refuse to just lay in this filth. You’ve taken such good care of me so far. Why stop with just that? Aftercare is important too.”

Jon sighed, feigning discontent, but he knew that, given the opportunity, he’d do the same without the drug forcing him to.


	4. Family Matters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The head of the Red Hood Family takes an interest in Batman's new assistant and decides to put the fear of the Hood in Ichabod only to discover just how difficult that is. Still, he has many methods of getting what he wants, and he's got no qualms with using the more harsh methods on Damian's roommate.
> 
> While confronted with the crime lord, Ichabod finally learns the true reason behind Batman's present isolation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! Stuck in a sort of limbo today, so I've had a little extra time to write! Yaaaay!
> 
> It was only a matter of time before I played with Jason in this. Can't keep the boy off my mind <3! I won't spoil anything here beyond the fact that the smut took a break this chapter. Sorry for the fans in it for Dami/Jon luvluv time! It'll return! Just...gotta work some story into this somewhat episodic mess.
> 
> Thanks again for the support! More notes at the end for some clarification as needed!

Batman was using new tools to deal with criminals in Gotham, and the effects hadn’t gone unnoticed. It was fine until members of the Red Hood crime family began spilling trade secrets without being able to stop themselves.

That left a bad taste in Jason’s mouth.

Being a rare criminal with inside information on Batman, Jason decided it was time to reaffirm the lines drawn in the sand between himself and Damian.

But when Devour brought the new silver-haired resident of the Manor instead of the Bat himself to Jason’s club, new questions arose.

“So, you’re the Bat’s new secret weapon?” Jason asked, waving Devour off. “Don’t tell me you’re the guy Hel fished up.”

His captive leaned back comfortably in their seat and shrugged in spite of the chains they’d been wrapped in. “I don’t know a ‘Hel’, and I certainly don’t know any Bat.”

Jason scoffed. “Right. I know Dev picked you up from the cave. The little shit doesn’t just allow anyone down there.”

“Yeah. About that Dev guy. Did he EAT me?”

“I’m the one asking questions. I suggest you answer them. Your roommate and I aren’t exactly on good terms.”

“I’d be surprised if Ding-Dong was on good terms with anybody. You ever see how he and that Kent guy are around each other? I’ll bet there’s a lot of hate sex.”

Jason smirked and set his gun down in favor of snatching his pack of cigarettes from his coat pocket. “You mind?”

“Those things could kill you. Y’know, so long as you’re not some other super powered thing like your mouthy friend or…well I’m assuming most people associated with Batman.”

Jason tapped the pack on his armrest, set it down, and drew one out, placing it between his lips. His captive watched intently at each motion required to supplement Jason’s oldest vice before asking, "did Batman do that to you?”

Jason took a long draw off his cigarette before explaining, “Bruce Wayne did a lot of things to me, but the only scar of note is up here.” He held the cigarette between two fingers and pointed it towards the mark just barely visible above the collar of his shirt. “The little shit you’ve decided to help out may be responsible for a few more scars, but no. He wishes he could have done this to me.”

“So…how’d it happen then?”

Jason cocked his head slightly. “You’ll have to be more specific, kid.”

“Yeah, about that. You don’t look like you could be older than me.”

“I age gracefully.” Jason took another long drag, basking in what little comfort the nicotine afforded him. “Look. You’re here because Batman has some new toys that are causing problems. He and I, let’s say we have a little deal. He stays away from my people and we don’t bury him alive.” Jason stood up and walked over to his captive, ready to make some real threats. “Now my people…My family, they’ve been placed in danger because of some drug that Batman’s using. I recommend you tell me exactly what that drug is and how to synthesize it.” He held the burning end of his cigarette right up to his captive’s right eye.

“You mean the T.C.D.? I make it. Made it. Took a lot of stuff Batman happened to have lying around; you wouldn’t believe how nasty that sex pollen stuff is. Totally messes up a person’s immune system.”

Jason grimaced. Why was his captive blathering away with the threat of losing an eye? “Do you realize what situation you’re in?”

The guy shrugged again. “Kidnapped by an enemy of the Bat. Figured it comes with the job. Least I was only taken by a one-armed, one-eyed goon who has a hard time lighting his own cigarette.”

Jason put his cigarette out on the guy’s cheek and only got a disgruntled whine out of him. “Alright, I’ll bite. What’s your deal?”

“My deal? You’re the freak who burned me!”

“Yeah. And most people would have been all but pissing themselves in the presence of Gotham’s top crime lord. So? What’s your deal?”

“I’m a med student at Gotham U with a knack for chemicals.”

“You got a name, Silver?”

“Ichabod.”

Jason smirked. “Like Sleepy Hollow?”

“Exactly! Finally! You would not BELIEVE how few people get that.”

“Let me guess. Not a single Super?”

“Yeah! Oops. I mean, whaaaat?”

“Look. You seem weird. I’m a fan of weird. A bit of a collector, if you could guess by my associate Devour. And despite our strained relationship, Batman and I aren’t enemies.” Jason kicked his captive in the chest, knocking the whole chair over. “Do me a favor and get rid of any reasons for me to send you back to Batman one piece at a time.”

Ichabod looked a little pained, but still didn’t crack under the pressure. “Pretty sure that’d just piss him off. If there is a tentative truce between you guys, shouldn’t you be taking this up with him? I’m more of a secretary to him anyways.”

“Perhaps I can help?” Babe stepped into Jason’s office, her zombie-mother pet still teetering along behind her. “Ichabod Crane here isn’t normal, but it’s an amalgamation of normal mutations that have led to them existing as they do.”

“Is that a zombie? Like, a real zombie? And what are you, twelve?”

“Sixteen, thank you very much,” Babe responded. “Anyways, Jonathan Crane fathered a child and experimented on it during gestation.”

That made the guy squirm. “H-hey, I didn’t give you permission to tell my story.”

“Crane’s goal was to create the perfect person based on his understanding of humanity. To achieve that, he eliminated the one thing that he came to worship.”

Jason wasn’t surprised. “You don’t feel fear.”

Ichabod frowned. “I don’t like sharing that.”

“Man. Did we ever kidnap the wrong person. How’s a gangster supposed to make threats to a guy who doesn’t feel fear?”

“Not a guy,” Babe said quickly. “Side effect of the experimentation. Iatrogenic intersex.”

Ichabod looked particularly annoyed. “If you’re just trying to pick me apart, do me a favor and kill me first. I don’t like being under the microscope.”

Jason rolled his eyes and waved at Ichabod, who didn’t understand the gesture until the chains holding them down became smoke and reformed to make a strange person of sorts. “I don’t even know how to work with someone who doesn’t feel fear. If I shoot you, will you demand that I stop at least?”

Ichabod got off of the floor and stretched out, popping their joints where they felt stiff. “I mean, I’d prefer you didn’t shoot me at all, honestly. I don’t feel fear, but pain still resonates.” They stared at the person…thing…that had once been chains keeping them bound to a chair. “What on earth are you?”

“I’m DNA. That’s all that matters to you,” it replied, its mask-like face not betraying any emotion.

“Thanks for helping out, guys. I’ll take it from here.”

Babe shrugged and led her zombie out. DNA lingered a bit longer, glowing orange eyes fixed on Ichabod. “You’re…interesting,” it commented.

Ichabod blinked a few times. “Thanks?”

DNA nodded slightly and drifted out of the room like a ghost.

“See, I thought Batman would have more associates like the ones you know. Instead I’ve got a broody man-child and his super lover. How’d that happen?”

Jason finally cracked a genuine smile. “You know, you’re far from what I expected.”

“And you don’t strike me as a murderous gangster. What gives? I mean, correct me if I’m wrong, but wasn’t the Red Hood an old associate of the Bat? What’s with the whole bad-guy gimmick? I mean, not that the Red Hood Family isn’t infamous, but, I don’t know, it’s not every day that a person gets to ask the leader of the family himself what the deal is.”

Jason returned to his throne-like seat and shrugged. “How about we make this worth my time? I’ll tell you whatever you want to know if you do the same for me.”

Ichabod crossed their arms over their chest. “Look, I get that it’s inconvenient for you, but I can’t just go spilling trade secrets. My serums are dangerous. I trust Batman to use them responsibly. There’s no way I’d just hand them over to a guy who keeps threatening to kill me.”

Jason picked his glock back up and trained the end of the barrel on Ichabod. “You’re not making this worth my time at all. I don’t like wasting my time.”

“I thought we went over this? You can threaten me all you want but—”

BANG!

Ichabod yelped like a beaten dog and pressed his right hand to his bloody left shoulder. “Fuuuck that smarts!”

“Next shot goes in the other shoulder. You’re a med student. Tell me how long you’ll last with two wounds like that.”

Ichabod had to try hard not to lose consciousness from the pain. “Wh-what if…I give you…an anti-serum?”

Jason cocked his head slightly. “Now we’re talking. I think DNA and Babe will be able to replicate something like that easy enough.”

Ichabod leaned back only to be caught by the entity known as DNA. “Mr. Hood can be cruel, but he looks out for us.” It placed one of its gloved hands over the bullet wound and Ichabod cried out in pain as his own body morphed through a highly accelerated healing process. When DNA let go the hole in Ichabod’s shirt remained, showing a slightly puckered scar where they’d been shot.

“F-f-fuuuck. Thank you?” Ichabod shuddered, his body still caught in a state of shock. “D-does this mean I can ask you questions, then?”

Jason set his gun down. “Ask away, kid.”

“Yeah. Okay. Let’s start with that. You look my age! Why do you keep talking like there’s such an age difference between us?”

“I stopped aging in my early twenties. Side effect of having the fountain of youth running through my veins.” Jason’s eyes glinted green in that moment. “That all you wanted to know?”

“No, I’ve got more. I’m still curious about your arm.”

“Mr. Hood doesn’t like—”

Jason held up his hand, cutting DNA off. “We invaded Sleepy’s privacy. It’s only fair to return the favor.”

DNA bobbed its head and dispersed into the air, vanishing once again.

Jason shrugged his jacket off, giving Ichabod a better view of the tied off sleeve up at his right shoulder. “How much do you know about Batman’s old associates?”

“You mean like Robin?”

“Yeah. Exactly like Robin.”

“Uhh, if history books are right, there were at least three different Robins. I think it was four, though. I mean, I’ve seen the suits up in the Cave. The first Robin became Nightwing. The second Robin died. The third is mostly a mystery, but apparently he led the Teen Titans a few times.”

Jason scoffed. “Guess we did a better job of hiding than I thought.” He shifted in his seat, already craving another cigarette. “The only thing the books got right was Nightwing and the second Robin’s death. Guess it was always too hard to believe that someone could come back, though. I was the second Robin. I died, and yet here I am.”

Ichabod winced. “Did you lose your arm?”

“No. I came back in one piece, surprisingly. I was pretty angry too. That’s why Red Hood didn’t always work with Batman.

“The third Robin, well, that guy’s still alive and kicking as well. He’s just slipping through space and time, so it’s hard to pin him down. Goes by Savior these days. Too pretentious for my taste. And you’re right; there were four Robins. Demon-Spawn was the fourth. Son of Batman. Soon as he showed up we all knew who was really destined to wear the cowl, not that I made it easy for him.” Jason smiled to himself.

“Okay. What does that have to do with your missing arm then?”

“Do you know what happened to Nightwing?”

Ichabod searched their brain, trying to recall whatever scraps of information they’d found over the years, but the fact was: Nightwing just sort of vanished from records shortly after moving to Bludhaven. “I guess not.”

“Turned out, he was related to an ancient evil in Gotham. It never made sense to me. I mean, he was the best of us. There wasn’t a tragedy that could bring him off his high horse. Batman trusted him more than anyone too. We all just kind of ignored the fact. We should have known better. Gotham has a way of corrupting even the best people.”

Ichabod rolled their shoulder a bit, testing its functionality before picking the chair he’d been tied to back up and taking a seat, certain that this conversation was going to go on a little longer than they were ready for. “Ding-Bat doesn’t talk about his past much. Did he know Nightwing?”

Jason scoffed. “There was a time when they were the dynamic duo. He was basically Demon-Spawn’s brother. Even now there’s a stupid part of him that still wants to save Nightwing.”

“Save him from what?”

“Exactly.” Jason touched his hand to his scarred eye. “Nightwing’s relative found him one night and gave him an ultimatum. Join or die, you know? Very Star Wars cliché. Batman tried to intervene, but he was already getting on in years. And, being the little boy scout that he was, Nightwing chose to try for an alternative. He wasn’t ready to learn that there wasn’t one. The way I heard it, he was butchered right in front of Batman. I guess that’s what triggered the psychosis that led to the old man’s dementia.”

“And then the killer cut your arm off?”

“Patience, kid. This story comes with a lesson I think you’ll benefit from learning.”

Ichabod leaned back in their seat and waited to hear the rest.

“Batman couldn’t even recover Nightwing’s body. The guy who killed him took him away. Batman didn’t know how to function after that. Luckily Demon-Spawn was old enough to take on the responsibility, but it was way before anyone ever thought he would have to. I tried to help out a little. I mean, we weren’t on the best terms, but it was like losing a family member. It hit us all pretty hard.

“Unlike the unhealthy household of the Bat, however, I’d found a family. I had friends who meant the world to me. I’d already learned how loss could hurt, so I had a nasty habit of keeping people at an arm’s length, but one person…Scarlet…she got past my defenses. She and I were a team, but I made sure to protect her from the worst that Gotham had to offer. She always deserved better, but I understood her desire to fight back.

“The people who…owned the ancient evil, they didn’t appreciate the interference that we created. They used the same stuff that made Nightwing’s relative immortal to bring him back, but now he was different. He wasn’t a hero anymore. He wasn’t anything but a killer. It was hard to accept that. I mean, I’ve never shied away from shedding some blood to achieve my ends, but he was better than that. I’ll never forget how much it messed the Demon-Spawn up when he first watched our brother slit an innocent’s throat.”

Ichabod swallowed a lump in their own throat, beginning to see where this story was going. “Nightwing became a killer?”

Jason shrugged. “Guess it’s just the natural way of things. A Robin dies and comes back a cold blooded killer. I started the pattern, after all. We should have seen it coming. He was dangerous. It was best to forget who he once was and stop him. But D…he wouldn’t let me. Stopped Savior even. Got on our asses about trying to kill family. I gave him some slack and went after the people who had changed Nightwing instead. Figured it could at least give me some vindication. I…I never thought that…” Jason’s hand fell into his lap and he stared at it sadly. “I didn’t consider how they’d retaliate.”

“Nightwing…cut off your arm?”

Jason sighed. “Talon. That’s what they called…call him…He was their perfect Talon. A blade trained to go for the kill. They sent him out to break me and…he got to her.”

Ichabod felt an unusual amount of sympathy for the man who had shot him not a few minutes ago. “Scarlet?”

“Talon…He dropped her on my doorstep. She looked so…” Jason closed his eyes. “I couldn’t think straight after that. I just wanted him dead. I was sloppy. I managed to get one of his eyes, but he pinned me and hacked my arm clean off. For a marksman…well, losing your dominant hand sucks no matter who you are. As if that wasn’t enough, as I lay next to her in the rain, waiting for darkness to swallow me again, he decided to make us even and took my eye so that we’d both be missing one.”

Ichabod squirmed. “And…you lived…”

“Tch. What gave me away?” Jason settled back into his chair comfortably, shaking off the somberness from his tragic story. “My real family found me and got me fixed up. I vowed to kill Talon for what he did to Scarlet, and Batman didn’t like that, so we decided it was best to keep our families separate. My methods never really worked for the Bats anyways, so I leaned into it. I’m from the dregs of Gotham. Now I run things from the shadows of Neo-Gotham. As long as Batman leaves my family alone, I don’t interfere with him. But your little drug has tilted the scales, and I don’t like that. You’re going to give me the anti-serum so that balance can be restored.”

Ichabod took a deep breath. “Yeah…Okay…”

Jason stood up and retrieved his gun once again. “Good. Tell that to your landlord. Once our transaction’s finished, consider yourself off of my shit-list. Tilt the scales again and you’ll have to watch your back. I’ve got my fair share of family members who might just be there, waiting for my signal.”

The door to the office opened again and a woman with long blond hair dressed in a red pantsuit stepped in with Damian behind her. “Right on cue, Jay,” she said. “Said he’s here to pick up his roommate.”

“Todd, I swear, if you did anything to Icky I’ll—”

“They’re fine, Pipsqueak. Just figured it was time I met your new meat shield.” Jason traipsed over to Ichabod and pressed the end of his glock to their temple. “Sleepy Hollow and I have an agreement. Long as they keep up their end, I’ve got no reason to bother them again. In fact, if they ever feel like they want a better offer than being your latest expendable, they know where to find me.” He shoved Ichabod hard and Damian caught them.

“You’re pushing your luck, Todd,” Damian warned.

Jason’s mouth wrenched up into a dark grin. “What’re you going to do? Kill me?” The two of them glared at each other in silence for a pregnant moment before Jason nodded towards the woman. “Mia, care to lead our guests out?”

The woman, Mia, bobbed her head slightly and punched at Damian’s arm. “Moving on, Wayne. You don’t have to go home, but I’ll be damned if I let you stay here.”

Jason watched as she led them across his establishment to the far exit where Bizarro stood by the door.

“DNA, stay close to Sleepy Hollow. Make sure they follow through with their side of the agreement.”

“Yes, Mr. Hood,” a disembodied voice said.

Moments later a woman with impossibly long red hair stepped into his office, closing the door behind her. “You haven’t talked about her in a long time,” she noted as she retrieved his jacket and draped it over his shoulders lovingly. “Feeling sentimental?”

Jason cracked his neck and moved away from Artemis. “They deserved to know. People who get involved with people like us might as well have a target on their backs.”

“You aren’t alone, Jason.”

“No. But not everyone has the strength of an Amazonian warrior.”

Artemis chuckled and took Jason’s hand in hers before dropping down to one knee and kissing his knuckles. “Not everyone has the heart of a king either.”

***

“You were almost killed! This was a mistake!”

Ichabod watched Damian stomp around the main hall of the manor. After what they'd learned, the saw Damian in a whole different light. “It’s not like I walked in and announced myself. The guy had a weird big-mouthed guy swallow me whole. Super weird experience, by the way.”

“Devour. Damnit. What did he want from you?”

“I think he wanted to eat me.”

“No! Not…What did Todd want?”

“He didn’t appreciate our T.C.D. being used on his people,” Ichabod admitted. “I, uh, managed to talk him down. Told him you’d avoid using it on any Hood in the future.”

“That’s not your call to make.”

Ichabod knew that all too well, but didn’t want to tell Damian about the deal they’d struck, especially since they were relatively certain that DNA might still be lurking about nearby as insurance. “I’m sorry. Guy had a way of being persuasive. Thanks for the save.”

“So he did hurt you! I’m going back there and—”

“And you’re what, going to throw batarangs at him? Guy had this weird thing that was whatever it wanted, some weird telepathic chick with a zombie friend, and that guy that LITERALLY ate me. No offense, but somehow I think the guy’s prepared to handle whatever you throw at him.”

Damian clicked his tongue. “I’ve had contingencies for the Red Hood Family in play for years.”

Ichabod nodded, uncertain how much they believed that. “Look, I’m not worth starting a war over. It’s fine. No harm no foul.”

Damian took a deep breath, letting his shoulders drop. “You’re right.”

Ichabod grimaced. “Okay, well, you could at least admit you’d be a LITTLE torn up about it if something were to…never mind. Look, he told me about Talon.”

Damian stopped dead.

“You blame Jonny-Boy a lot for your isolation, but that’s not it, is it? He’s a Super. No matter what Talon is, Jon can survive it, right? If you let someone else in, then…”

“Grayson.”

“Hm?”

“His name is…was…Richard Grayson. He and I were close, and I let that closeness blind me. It wasn’t just Todd who suffered at Grayson’s hand.” Damian shook, making Ichabod regret bringing the subject up. “Spoiler was a part of the Bat-Family and…she’ll never be the same. Gordon, she…she was close to him too. After what happened, she doesn’t speak to any of us anymore.”

“Commissioner Gordon? She was part of this Bat-stuff too?”

Damian shook his head. “I appreciate what you’ve done for me, but perhaps Todd was right. You’re in danger here.”

Ichabod scoffed. “I’ve also got access to the best lab in all of Gotham here! You’ll have to pry me out of here with a crowbar!”

Damian sighed. “That won’t be necessary. Your lease is month to month. At the end of the month, I won’t be extending it.”

Ichabod blinked a few times in shock. “You’re joking, right?”

Damian left without a word, retiring to the Cave to prepare before his nightly patrol. Samson trotted over to Ichabod and whined, recognizing their distress.

“Don’t worry, boy. Master’s just being an asshole. He’ll come around…Or I’ll just have to use T.C.D. to fix him, right?”

Samson whined more, pulling at Ichabod’s heartstrings.

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding…probably…” They bent over to scratch Samson's ears reassuringly before saying, "You still around, DNA?"

"I'm only supposed to make my presence known if I feel it is necessary," a disembodied voice replied.

"Well, you're bad at your job then. Probably best for you to stay invisible. Ding-Bat'll be gone in about ten minutes, then I'll head to the Cave to work on that anti-serum for your boss. I wouldn't mind having someone to bounce ideas off of, if you're up for chatting a little."

A long silence followed before a somewhat bemused, "I think I would like that."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for making it this far!
> 
> For anybody wondering about the odd amount of new faces (of sorts) that have come up with the Red Hood Family, I'm WAY up to date on the Red Hood: Outlaw comic (in fact, it's one of the only titles I can truly claim to be on top of), and the new faces are from the latest lineup of Outlaws! Devour is a uhh...Metal-Morph? Hard to tell at this point. All I know is he eats metal, is metal-ish, and at one point unhinged his jaw and used his mouth as a sort of inter-spacial portal. DNA is widely accepted as DC's first real attempt at a gender-non-binary character and, in my opinion, they went a little to the extreme with them. I mean, DNA is whatever the heck DNA wants. Cool power, no? Lastly in this chapter, there was Babe. Babe is the only name I could think to give to a futuristic Babe in Arms, as she's just an infant in current comics. A hyper-intelligent infant with a zombie-mother-figure carrying her around...
> 
> Otherwise there were a couple other throwbacks. Mia Dearden (AKA Arrowette/Speedy) is a character I've also included in another story I'm working on. I like the idea of her and Jason being close. DC liked the idea of Jason attacking her to prove that they were similar...I like my version better, but whatever. Artemis is Artemis of Bana Mighdall, not Artemis Crock (I love YJ too, but blond archer is already taken here). Biz is Bizarro II, Jason's bestest (or is that "worstest"?) buddy. And lastly, Scarlet! For any long-time Red Hood fans (even thru his weird phase...), the name should ring a bell. While I'm no fan of Jason's nub-head times, I wish Scarlet would come back. I really liked the idea of J-bird having a sidekick, and she was great.
> 
> Of course...my idea of bringing Scarlet back was to have Dick murder her......
> 
> I do find it delightfully ironic that Jason, my favorite Mr. lonely loner, is the one with a whole family backing him while Damian, Mr. Teen Titan's self-appointed leader child, is the one faced with isolation. Karma is a bitch? Sort of? I mean, they've both got their fair share of tragedies to live with...


	5. Haunted by the Talon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ichabod meets yet another member of the old family.
> 
> Hopefully they survive the experience.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NaNoWriMo is proof that I'm a masochist...or is it proof that I'm not? I'm not enjoying the self-inflicted suffering...
> 
> Anywho, this chapter was started before I turned my brain into deadline-racing mush, so I apologize if it feels a little messy in places. The goal here was to introduce Dick Grayson in his current iteration to the story at last. Hope you enjoy the continued saga of old man Damian and his roommate Ichabod!

Ichabod grew accustomed to their role. They’d keep up with the surveillance feeds throughout the city whenever possible and work on various chemical compounds and drugs that might help Batman (or at least prove useful in other ways). On occasion they’d have to patch Damian up after a particularly rough night on the job, but they were happy to do it.

Knowing that it had a time limit just left Ichabod feeling frustrated every time that Damian went out as Batman.

But on the Night of Owls, things changed.

The city was hit with a large scale EMP bomb that took down all of the surveillance feeds. Damian had to go out and operate as Batman, but he was going in blind. Thankfully the cave itself had backup measures, but getting the cameras and drones back online was to take some time. With only the feed from Damian’s cowl coming through for Ichabod to keep track of him with, everything seemed more dangerous. They maintained a constant communication link as well, just in case the Cave’s feeds came up before he had access to them.

If not for that, Ichabod might not have lasted the night.

“Okay, the Szasz Squad is nasty. Who knew a whole group of freaks would try to take after that psycho?” Ichabod noted while entering data for a homework assignment with their left hand and checking the systems with their right.

[It’s Gotham. Even when it seems like the worst should have moved on, it never really does.]

“And yet here we are, Bat and Scarecrow, working together for the greater good, right?” Ichabod said with a chuckle. They stopped briefly to snag a potato chip when the barking made them freeze up. “Uh, we expecting anyone?”

[No. Jon is off world with the League. It’s really uncommon for anyone to pay the Manor a visit. Why?]

A loud yelp had Ichabod out of their seat. “Something’s wrong.”

[Stay in the Cave. I’ll get to you as quickly as I can.]

Ichabod affixed a domino mask on their face—less as a disguise and more so that they could continue to communicate—and clipped a belt equipped with their latest drugs on. “I can’t just leave Samson and Ace out there alone.”

[Your drugs won’t stop a bullet, Ichabod. Now stay put!]

“I’m just going to get the pets down here. Nothing more.”

[Ichabod, you’re not listening! This could be more dangerous than you know!]

But Ichabod had already made their way to the library entrance. They kept as silent as they could as they crept out to the hall on the second floor just in time to see someone steadily making their way up to the master bedroom.

[Father…Ichabod, I’m not asking anymore. You need to get back to the cave.]

Ichabod ignored Damian’s plea, knowing full well that Ace would be guarding his master’s room. They followed the intruder up to the third floor, ready to throw a smoke bomb containing a paralytic agent derived from the neurotoxin of pufferfish when the person in question turned on them.

“Ace!”

The Great Dane launched at the intruder, biting down hard on his arm and anchoring him in place. The intruder wore an unusual mask with goggle-like lenses, hiding their face, but the lack of an exclamation was worrisome. Could he not feel the eighty pounds of pure canine muscle tearing through the flesh of his arm?

The intruder lunged toward Ichabod, still with a dog attached, and it was all Ichabod could think to force the smoke bomb into his mouth.

The intruder retreated a few steps, stunned, and Ace released him only to rush away from the smoke in a panic. Thankfully, Ichabod had developed a sort of resistance to their own drugs. It didn’t mean the paralytic wouldn’t affect them, just that it would take a little longer to do so. They just needed the intruder stunned. Then they could wait for Damian to show up and take care of it.

The intruder, however, seemed more inconvenienced than slowed. He launched a couple throwing knives—one of which nicked Ichabod’s cheek while the other pinned their hand to the bannister—then slowly closed the distance between them.

“You must be new. Talon biology isn’t the same as human biology. That mistake will cost you.” He placed a clawed hand on Ichabod’s cut cheek only to be grabbed by four hands and pulled back.

“That’s enough of that.” DNA’s voice was barely more than a soft breeze as they lifted the intruder into the air, preparing to throw them over the railing to the lower floors. “Jason will be glad to see you again,” they and said softly. “He was never particular about what state you had to be in, though.”

Ichabod watched the intruder click some button in his glove that made his costume give off a spark. DNA shouted in pain and fizzled out briefly, freeing the intruder, who caught the rail and pulled himself back over effortlessly. He walked calmly over to Ichabod and pressed on the knife just enough to widen the wound a bit and draw an uncomfortable groan from Ichabod.

DNA reformed to attack again, but the guy popped a capsule and a gas released between them. Within seconds, DNA was screaming and writing. Ichabod could almost taste the gas as it entered his lungs and he knew just how dangerous most compounds could be. If he paralytic was this ineffective, who knew what else the guy was immune to…

The intruder seemed to be waiting for Ichabod to give a certain response. An uncomfortable amount of time passed with him still pressing on the knife before he spoke. “What are you?”

“Pissed off, that’s what,” Ichabod spat. “I don’t know who you think you are, but you’re making a huge mistake, breaking in here.”

“I’m nothing more than a Talon. And I know exactly what I’m doing. Wait here. I have some business to take care of with Mr. Wayne.” He left Ichabod and went toward the door to the master bedroom.

“You go in there and I’ll leave your sorry ass to the Gotham City sewer rats for clean-up. Mr. Wayne’s off limits.” Ichabod wasn’t sure what they were doing. Their drug was obviously having no effect on the menace, their secret guardian was nowhere to be seen, and aside from a couple other serums they still hadn’t tested that were on them, he had no chance.

“Oh? Do you plan to stop me then? I’ll happily go through you, if that makes you feel more useful.”

“You don’t scare me, Big Bird. Want a dance partner? I’m right here?” Pinned to a wall, but what was one little detail?

The intruder’s stoic expression broke slightly. “I don’t think you understand.”

Ichabod ripped the blade out of their own hand and threw it at the man, who proceeded to catch it with ease. “You picked the wrong old man to mess with. I understand just fine.”

The man scoffed and lowered himself, poising to strike. “So be it.”

But the doors to the master bedroom flew open and an old man rolled out, cane at the ready and what looked like a 20th century gas mask on over his face. He struck the intruder and a fight ensued. Ichabod wanted to help, but with their hand bleeding the way that it was, it wasn’t likely that they’d be able to accomplish much, and they were beginning to feel the effects of their own paralytic.

Besides, this was the original Batman. Watching him work was incredible. In spite of the way that his body clicked with certain movements, he still put up one hell of a fight. But the intruder didn’t move in ways that most people could. With acrobatic precision, he leapt about, dodging every blow like he was performing a previously choreographed dance. He was just humoring the old man, waiting for the best moment to drop the act.

Ichabod felt compelled to help, so they tossed the old man a spray bottle. “Spray it into his mouth,” they explained.

Bruce waited until the right moment before doing just that.

Confused, the intruder stopped their game of cat and mouse, moving with every intention of incapacitating Bruce.

“Flare!” Ichabod said in a stern voice.

The intruder winced and missed Bruce completely, landing on their hands and knees and shaking like they were in excruciating pain.

“What did I use on him?”

“Um…beta of an upgraded version of…I mean…it’s like a nerve control agent. Fast acting. I don’t know how effective it is, how long it’ll last, there’s so many other factors that I don’t…” They shook their head and felt an odd wave of nausea. Still worried about whatever gas the guy had used earlier, Ichabod decided to speed things up. “You know what? No better time to test. Mellow!”

The intruder stopped shaking and their breathing slowed. They moved to get back onto their feet, but Ichabod wasn’t pulling anymore punches.

“On your knees.”

The intruder cringed and followed the order so that he was on his knees before Bruce.

“Tell us what you want!”

“I want to come home.”

That wasn’t an answer that Ichabod could puzzle out, and his head was starting to feel fuzzy. “Uhh. Then go home.”

“Why are you here?” Bruce demanded, understanding the effect of Ichabod’s spray, unaware of the fact that it had to be Ichabod who gave commands.

“Uhh, answer his questions,” Ichabod said quickly, hoping the command would give Bruce the control that he needed.

“The court has grown impatient. Batman cannot continue to operate in their way. Neither can the Outlaw. Threats are to be eliminated.”

“You’re going to stop trying to hurt us. Heck, you’re going to stop wanting to hurt anybody…ever…,” Ichabod commanded.

“I never wanted to hurt anyone. I have no choice.” At that, the intruder lunged at Ichabod—apparently pushing through the drug’s effect in spite of things—going for the kill.

A batarang landed between them, stopping the intruder cold. Damian had returned—fully clad in his Batman armor—and he fought off the intruder until the man left out a high window.

“I told you to stay in the Cave.”

Ichabod shrugged and took the reverse agent for the paralytic from their belt, applying while explaining, “I wanted to make sure the dogs were okay. And this old guy doesn’t exactly go out much, so I guess I was worried about him too. Thanks for the save, by the way, Mr. Wayne.”

“Damian…who is this young man?”

“My tenant. He’s been here a little while.”

“Does Alfred realize there’s another mouth to feed?”

The Batsuit didn’t really give much away, but Ichabod noticed a slight twinge in Damian’s lip before he said, “Of course he is aware. I have told you before as well. You just don’t seem to grasp it.”

Bruce took off his gas mask, revealing what Ichabod imagined was exactly what Damian would look like in another couple of decades. It was enough of an uncanny resemblance that it had Ichabod wondering if there hadn’t been some genetic experimenting on Damian in early development (just another odd thing to add to the list of commonalities between them). “Young man, what is this spray exactly?”

“I call it ‘loose-lip’ serum. It acts as a truth serum and makes the person highly suggestible. It’s still in testing stages. Damian has the functioning first version available in his belt. This version definitely needs more testing though. That guy didn’t make a whole lot of sense when you sprayed him, and he still attacked us when I told him not to.”

“You created this?”

“Uhh, yeah. I’ve got loads serums and compounds and the like.”

“This should be a standard item with any suit that you take out,” Bruce told Damian.

“It already is, Father. Not that it will be much help against Talon.”

“No…He’s still in there, Damian. He’s not Talon.”

Damian looked unbelievably tired. “This again? Father, I don’t care how lucid you think you are. There’s nothing left of Grayson but the husk that was once his body. There’s no need to feel sentiment towards—”

“Your friend here asked what he wanted while he was under the influence of the…serum,” Bruce seemed reluctant to use the name Ichabod had given their serum. “He was quick to tell us that he wanted to return home.”

“Maybe the Court’s got him holed up in some nice pad on the East side.”

“Well between that and him saying he didn’t want to hurt anybody when I tried to get him to stop attacking, Bird -guy seemed kind of off,” Ichabod added. “He another of the Rogues Gallery? I don’t remember coming across a file for him on the Computer.”

Damian seemed a little thrown by Ichabod’s statement. “He said what?”

“Yeah. The guy apparently wanted to ‘come home’ and ‘didn’t want to hurt anybody’,” Ichabod said with air-quotes. “That was weird. My serum’s supposed to make you honest, not weird.”

Damian removed his cowl and stared at Ichabod with awe-struck eyes. “He said that?”

“Uhh. Yeah? Look, it might take a couple days to fix the serum but—”

“It’s fine, Ichabod…I just…I’m at a loss.”

Bruce stared at Ichabod intently and suddenly said, “Urbach-Wiethe.”

Ichabod straightened up. “Bless you.”

“You suffer from Urbach-Wiethe disorder. You being here hardly seems coincidental. Ichabod…can I assume you’re Jonathan Crane’s son?”

“I prefer to think of the guy as a sperm donor in a fucked up experiment,” Ichabod muttered. “But…you seriously figured that out from my name?”

“Your parentage, yes. But during that fight you showed no hesitation and failed to regard your own safety. Either you’re extremely selfless, or more likely—”

“You can’t feel fear,” Damian said in a whisper. “Damnit. How did I miss that?”

Ichabod groaned. “So what if I can’t? Man, you stupid detective types are annoying. How is it, old man, that you guessed my secret and my sperm donor, but you still think I’m a guy? I mean damn!”

Bruce cleared his throat. “My bad. I was certain that…You just don’t seem overly…I’m not as in tune with the times.”

“Intersex, Father. Ichabod is both.”

“And neither,” Ichabod slapped their bloody hand on Damian’s chest emblem. “Look, I’d really like to continue getting analyzed by Bat-Dad, but I just got attacked by some mystery ninja and you’re being annoyingly cryptic about him. So, if we’re done here, I’ll be in the infirmary, stitching this hole shut.”

It took hours before Damian found the courage to explain himself to Ichabod. Ichabod figured he was taking care of his father after the very active incident. It turned out okay, though, as DNA reformed in the med-bay while they were stitching up.

“I…I’m sorry I wasn’t more helpful,” they muttered.

“Don’t mention it. I’d honestly assumed you’d left a while ago. Knowing you had my back was encouraging.”

DNA’s mask bobbed a bit as they explained, “I haven’t been around all of the time. I am glad that if I was able to help you, even a little, but Jason sent me to watch over you when the power first went out.”

Ichabod smiled just a bit. “I guess, let him know I said thanks, then. He’s not such a bad guy, huh?”

All four of DNA’s shoulders shrugged. “Think what you like. He’s going to be pissed when he finds out I lost Talon, though.” They gave a quick bow. “I must excuse myself now. I should get back to Jason and the others. The Court won’t bet the best of us.” And with that they left.

Ichabod had enough time to start digging through the Bat-Computer after the backup generator kicked on, seeing if any of his homework documents had survived the EMP crash.

“Thank you for what you did.”

“You mean for not staying in the Cave?”

“Father was unusually lucid. That may have been a key factor in your surviving the situation. I apologize for not being aware of your disorder.”

“It’s not a disorder to me,” Ichabod corrected. “I don’t feel fear. My fight or flight reflexes lean heavily in one direction. So what? You’ll never catch me screaming over a spider.”

“Fear can keep you alive.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t feel it and I’m still here. Anything else you’d like to discuss? I lost a chunk of my research paper to the pulse, so I’ve got some work ahead of me.”

“Yes…The intruder today was…He was a…”

“An ex-lover? A supermodel gone assassin? Even I can’t deny that guy had an ass meant to distract. Woof.”

“He’s family.”

Ichabod froze for a moment, processing the information. “Can I just say how disappointed I am that didn’t inherit that ass? Not that yours isn’t great, but seriously. Woof.”

“No. Would you stop talking about his—” Damian gave an exasperated sigh. “You’re not exactly the easiest person to talk to.”

“I try not to be.”

“His name is Richard Grayson.”

That got Ichabod’s attention. “Wait. Didn’t Bruce Wayne have a, like, kid adoption fetish thing?”

“Ick…”

“No, I remember that in the news. He adopted like, four or five people, which was really messed up ‘cuz so many of them died.” Ichabod gasped. “Will he adopt me if I live here too long? I hadn’t even considered that. I may not accept my parentage, but I’m happy on my own, thank you very—”

“Ick, shut up and let me finish.”

Ichabod puffed their cheeks but sat silently.

“Richard Grayson was indeed Father’s ward. His first. And also the first Robin.”

Ichabod laughed. “Oh man! Tell me each of the adopted kids were Robins! How did nobody figure out who Batman was?”

“Jason Todd was one of such people as well,” Damian pointed out.

“Outlaw-dude? Yeesh. What happened to make him turn so dark?”

“He died once. It didn’t take.”

“Oh yeah…I guess that can put a damper on one’s outlook on life.”

“The same could be said about most of us, though. Don’t be so surprised.”

“Yeah, like I said, how did any human services person let a guy with a track record of dead kids keep getting more?”

Damian shrugged. “Money is a powerful thing. We’re straying from the point.”

“Yeah. So Buttastic is another ex-Robin with some grudge against Daddy. Tell me he and the Godfather upstairs are close! I bet they’re close!”

“Grayson was killed just before I took on the cowl. He was brought back by a mysterious substance that an underground organization known as the Court of Owls uses to reanimate the corpses of their greatest warriors and control them. Unlike Todd, Grayson was not given agency upon returning from the dead.”

“Still. Brothers in arms and brothers in—”

“Grayson is the reason that Todd has one arm and one eye.”

“Ah, right. I knew that too. Poor word choice.”

“Your serum today proved that Grayson is still in there somewhere. It is not an easy pill to swallow. Grayson’s death has weighed on this household for a long time…”

“Oh, is that all?” Ichabod pulled up a program on the Computer and started working away. Damian watched as a few chemical combinations were simulated and tested on simulations, failing over and over again or showing disastrous results that were hard to watch until one combination yielded a positive outcome. After many further simulated tests, the success rate of the combination was shown as being over 97% and ready for human trials. “There we go.”

“What did you just make?”

“I reworked my serum to work under the designations necessary to affect Gray-Guy—Ace was happy to let me get the blood off his face to test, so this version should affect the guy for sure…Probably... It won’t make him suggestible, but it should allow him to act upon his own desires as opposed to the desires of others. Seems a little questionable, though, if that’ll actually help the situation, so I recommend a double dosage of T.C.D.”

Damian’s eyes widened.

“Probably should test it out a couple of times to see how it goes, but basically, this should restore some agency.”

Damian laughed—a sound that Ichabod hadn’t heard before and that might have sparked fear in them if they were able to experience it—unable to contain himself. “He’s been like this for so long, and you offer this solution in no time at all? It’s just…it’s funny.”

Ichabod shrugged. “Guess you never knew you needed me in your life.” They stared at the data and noted, “If the guy really is a reanimated corpse, though, I won’t be able to help him maintain that.”

“What if I were to obtain a sample of the substance being used to keep him alive?”

“Something tells me if it was that easy you’d have already tried recreating it,” Ichabod mumbled. “And, of course, I only have until the end of the week before my lease runs out and I’ll be forced to find a new place in some seedy Gotham apartment where I’ll probably wind up selling some homemade drugs just to maintain the sort of lifestyle I’ve become accustomed to.”

Damian scoffed. “You were attacked by a previous resident of this place and your desire to stick around hasn’t gone away?”

“We live in Neo-Gotham. I’m in the safest place around. Can’t say that two different Batmen would have saved my ass if something like your old friend attacked me elsewhere.”

“Ideally you wouldn’t be attacked at all,” Damian noted.

Ichabod pulled up the various camera feeds set up around the city for Batman’s benefit and easily spotted at least six instances where villains—both costumed and otherwise—were beating up civilians. “Maybe if I lived in the rich neighborhood of Metropolis, but sadly here I am, yet another child of Gotham in all its toxic glory.”

“Fine.”

“Anyways, I’ll need a sample of whatever’s keeping your guy alive and—” Ichabod stiffened. “I’m sorry, what?”

“You can stay.”

They tried to fight back the smile splitting their face. “You mean it?”

“It’s easier to protect you when I know where you are. But we have to establish more rules. Urbach-Weithe disorder? That’s not something you keep secret from me.”

Ichabod jokingly put their left hand to their forehead in a mock-salute. “Sir, yes sir! I’m full of secrets! Like sometimes I sneak my more experimental concoctions into your food on purpose in small doses just to see if it’s effective. Also, there’s this thing that your buddy—Red Head—has looking out for—”

“Not every secret. I get it,” Damian said, cutting him off.

Ichabod winked at him. “I’m as open a book as you want me to be, Ding-Bat.”

“I would still very much like to discuss your insistence on using nicknames.”

“Says the guy who refers to everyone by their last name unless circumstances demand otherwise,” Ichabod pointed out. “Remind me again how close you and ‘Grayson’ were?”

“I don’t refer to you as ‘Crane,’” Damian pointed out.

“Yeah, because you dealt with Thomas Crane. Come on. ‘Grayson?’ So impersonal.”

“His first name is Richard, but he preferred to go by ‘Dick.’” Damian explained.

Ichabod blinked a few times. “And you didn’t have a fully loaded arsenal of nicknames?”

“That was more Todd’s thing.”

“Which one’s Todd?”

“Red Hood.”

“Ooh, yeah, that makes sense.”

Damian allowed himself to smile as well. “Thanks again, Ick. Sincerely.”

“Don’t thank me yet. This partnership is still young. There’s still plenty of growing room. Which reminds me, I should have a code name!”

“Next thing you’ll be wanting some gaudy, colorful costume to wear around the streets at night.”

Ichabod scoffed. “Not a chance. Uhh…we could stick with the Bat motif and call me Echo.”

Damian settled into a nearby chair, letting the tension leave his body as he humored his tena—no…his roommate. “Nope. The Riddler once had a sidekick who went by Echo.”

“Beware the force of Batman and the Drug Lord!”

“Hard pass.”

“Batman and Fester.”

“You really want to be associated with open wounds?”

“Yeah, no, that sounded nasty as soon as I said it. Give me a minute. I’ll figure out the perfect name…Frankenstein?”

“There was an Agent Frankenstein. He was based on the monster, but—”

“Yeah, not really what I’m going for anyways. Ooh, how about Batman and the Bird?”

“Bane sidekick.”

“Next you’re going to tell me Bane had some cohort called ‘The Sombrero’ or something ridiculous like that.”

“No, El Sombrero’s not one to work with others.”

“No way.”

“You can’t make this shit up.”


	6. A Day In the Life...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A glimpse at the average day for the main characters with a bonus not-yet-formally-introduced character at the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyo!
> 
> So, by popular request, I have fleshed out everybody's lives a little more here with just a normal day for Damian and the people around him. Here's hoping it answers some questions as to what everybody's like (especially Icky!). Next up I swear, there's some plot coming!

DAMIAN WAYNE

“I don’t see why you’re here. Alfred should be doing his job.”

“Pennyworth’s on vacation. We’ve been over this.”

“You’re supposed to be in Bludhaven. You can’t keep abandoning your post.”

“Bludhaven’s gone. You know this.”

“Shut up! You’re not making any sense, Dick! Where is Alfred!”

“You have to calm down.”

“Alfreeed!” Bruce barreled right through his coffee table and threw his chair at the holo-window. When it passed right through he went into a frenzy. “What’s going on? Where am I? Is this some sort of trick?”

Holo-windows were a decade old invention developed by Wayne Tech. In order to avoid damage and broken glass, the windows can be programed to remain solid for living organisms and fluid for inanimate objects. They had been a godsend after Bruce started throwing these tantrums. The first time he’d broken a window he’d badly hurt himself and Damian in the process of being restrained. This way Damian would just have to go and fetch a broken chair from the lawn.

“You’re okay. It’s Wayne Tech. You’re at home.”

“Alfreeeeed!”

“You need to calm down. Your blood pressure is too high.”

“Stay away from me! You’re not Dick! You’re an imposter!”

Damian sighed. “Took you long enough,” he told his father calmly, watching Bruce’s brain run like an ancient machine. “I’m not your Grayson. There’s a paradox happening on a few universes right now. Your guy had me come to check on you. Pennyworth is helping out in the Cave. I’ve got strict instructions to make sure you’re well cared for while he’s busy, but if it would make you feel better to talk to him, I’ll go get him. Just, at least take your meds and make it look like you’ve eaten some of your breakfast, so he doesn’t blame me, okay? Can you at least promise me that?”

Bruce kept his eyes trained on Damian but took the pills on the tray and washed them down with the glass of water that was thankfully on a different table. He swallowed and showed Damian his empty mouth before making demands again. “Send Alfred right up.”

“You’re the boss.”

Damian stepped out, closed the door slowly, and groaned loud enough to alert Ace and Samson both. Samson bounded up the stairs to him while Ace waited patiently for Damian to come to him.

“It’s fine, guys. He’ll be out cold in the hour.” It had taken multiple tries that day just to get his father properly medicated. He was lucid less and less these days. Damian counted his lucky stars that the old man was feeling more like himself when Talon last attacked. “It’s a miracle that Ichabod hasn’t gotten themself killed yet,” he muttered as Samson whined and licked at his hand. “I know, I know. Let me make sure nothing’s happening, then I’ll get you two out.”

It wasn’t like Damian hadn’t bought and installed an omni-directional floor paneled room with 360 visual and authentic sensory experience to make sure that his dogs got exercise (and apparently Ichabod as well, who had taken to gaming in there on a rare night when Damian didn’t go on patrol). But he liked having the connection with his dogs. He liked getting outside and breathing the [mostly synthetic] air of Neo-Gotham. It gave him the opportunity to feel…

BOOM!

“Sorry! Sorry! Uhh, downstairs kitchen is uhh…Just don’t eat the pancakes! Or…probably don’t drink the tap water for a day or two either. I’ve got to run!”

“Ick, seriously?”

“Can’t be late! Sorry!”

“Just don’t slam the—”

SLAM!

Damian sighed and looked down at Samson, who was panting with his tongue hanging out, tail wagging happily. “What do you see in them, huh?”

“Roowoof.”

“Yeah. Me too.” Damian took the stairs two at a time, matching pace with Samson’s lively bound, and finally met up with Ace on the second floor. The more dignified dog bowed his head slightly, letting Damian scratch his ears. “You know what? I’ve got my contacts in. If any alarms go off, I’ll be notified. Let’s take the day.”

Ace’s tail slapped the floor hard as he recognized what Damian was suggesting. “Come on. I’ll get my hat.”

They went down to the first floor. In the entryway he found a pair of old tennis shoes and fished out the dogs’ leashes. The last thing he grabbed was a baseball cap. Another great piece from Wayne Tech; the underside of the bill used harmless low light projectors to create visual alterations to one’s face. It came in handy when enigmatic billionaires wanted to go out and walk their dogs like normal people…

Damian made sure the hat was working by checking a nearby mirror. He grimaced upon finding that the face projected made him look older than his father. “Yeah, because that looks normal. Don’t mind the senile old man out walking his dogs the old-fashioned way.” He adjusted the settings so that the projected face was instead much younger. Now he looked like a healthy young man, not an inspiringly fit man in his mid-thirties.

Finally, he stepped out and set the security code behind him before letting Samson pull them towards their usual path. Neo-Gotham wasn’t like Gotham exactly. The city that Damian had grown up in was gritty, disgusting, and dangerous. Neo-Gotham was…shiny. Everything had been updated. A city built on top of a city to prove that modern innovation was still possible. It may as well have been known as the modern-day snow globe city. Even the weather was synthetic; produced by the hol-o-zone layer that had been set up about a decade back. It softened UV rays and kept harsh weather out. Neo-Gotham hadn’t seen rain in a long time. Of course, it hadn’t seen grass or most natural plant life either. Everything was produced in labs, engineered to need as little upkeep as possible. What few patches of plants scattered around the city were there mostly for aesthetic these days.

With everything so modern and ahead of its time, Neo-Gotham had overtaken Metropolis as the city of tomorrow. But of course, every city had its alleys and the old ways just wouldn’t die. Even in broad daylight, Jokerz gangs were hanging around and prostitutes were trying to make a living. Drug dealers at least had the courtesy to work under the shadows of night…usually. Not a mile away from the mansion, Damian witnessed a shady woman talking to a kid. Damian used his contacts to access the security cameras in the area and was perturbed to find that the feed was being looped. “Honestly, I just can’t have a quiet day.”

As he got closer he realized that he knew the shady girl in question. “Dearden?”

Mia looked at him, looked at his dogs, then rolled her eyes. “Oh. Look, this is all on the up and up. Kid’s scouting his school for us. There’s someone selling slappers there and he’s helping us figure out who’s behind it.”

“That true, kid?”

“What are you, a cop?” the kid spat.

Damian raised an eyebrow. “Cute.”

“Don’t worry about him, Ty. Here.” She took his wrist and tapped her watch to his, transferring credits to him. “Now get out of here. You’re doing a great job.”

Damian sighed as the kid ran off. “He’s underage.”

“His mother’s struggling,” she confirmed. “We found him trying to pick pockets near the bar one night. Biz had to scare off the Jokerz who had already pegged him, and Artemis put the fear of Hera into him. It was Jason’s suggestion to give him an alternative means of helping his mother.”

“You using unclaimed creds?”

“Totally scrubbed. They’ve been routed through enough channels that their point of origin is impossible for even Pup-Pup to trace.”

Damian hated that the Red Hoods’ tech expert was a sentient stuffed animal and he hated more that the stuffed animal was good at its job.

“And what do you plan to do to the seller?”

She shrugged. “The usual. You either join the fold, or you’re no longer a problem.” She petted Samson as he hopped about excitedly around her. Were it not for the fact that he trusted his dogs to be good judges of character, he’d consider dealing with Mia in a different way.

“Whatever. Give your Don my regards.”

That got a smirk from her. “Is that what we’re calling him now? ‘The Don’? ‘Don Todderino’? He’ll get a kick out of that.”

“EYAAAH!”

Ace’s ears flattened and he looked ready to attack. Not wanting to risk his pets, Damian shoved the handles to their leashes into Mia’s hands. “Watch them.”

“Wait, what?”

But Damian was already sprinting around the corner. The kid who Mia had just paid was on the concrete, trying to push off a Jokerz guy who was stepping on his chest with a cleat while a Jokerz girl was forcing the kid’s arm out so that she could get access to his watch. Damian couldn’t really give himself away, but the boldness of the gangs these days was getting intolerable.

Damian took a small capsule of Ichabod’s latest and greatest and casually walked by the scene, breaking the capsule as he passed so that a puff of gas filled the air.

“What the hell?”

“Hey, ya Spud! The hell’s this?”

Damian cringed, not wanting to use the command word Ichabod had given. “Nap-time.”

Both Jokerz and the boy passed out. Damian was glad to know that, even without his Batsuit, Ichabod had actually engineered this one so that it wouldn’t make the speaker react as well (one mistake that left Batman in an unconscious pile-up had proven that Ichabod needed to work out some kinks a little after Damian would have liked to know about them…).

Damian crouched by the boy and popped an antidote capsule just under his nose. The boy inhaled and woke up startled. “Wha? You again? What’d you—”

“I was just checking on you. I heard a scream and then there was some weird gas and the Jokerz with you just sort of dropped.”

The kid took Damian’s hand to get helped back onto his feet and he looked at the Jokerz dubiously. “Seriously? Man. I feel like I got shredded. Uh…Thanks for checking on me, I guess.”

Damian nodded and, just in passing, tapped his watch to the kid’s. It was such an innocent thing. The kid didn’t even notice. But that quick motion loaded up his account with enough creds that he wouldn’t have to keep working for the Hoods if he didn’t want to.

Satisfied with his work, he strolled back over to where he’d left Mia. “‘Nap-time.’ Honestly, they couldn’t pick anything that sounded more mature at least?”

WHUMP!

The loud sound made Damian jump. He looked up at the building he was standing by, certain that it had come from the roof. “Uhh. Hello?”

No answer.

He shrugged, not wanting to stick his nose into any more business until he was at least done walking his dogs.

Mia was still in place, looking nervously at Ace as he remained statue-still and poised for a fight (Samson, on the other hand, was busy chasing his tail and tangling his leash).

“Your boy was jumped,” Damian explained, taking the leashes back. A short whistle alerted Ace that the trouble had been taken care of. “He’s fine. Jokerz were handled. You should stay close though and make sure he gets home okay.”

“I could have done that without your help,” she growled.

“And I did it better. You’re welcome.”

She scoffed but stormed off after the kid.

Damian sent Jason a quick message, reminding him that using underage kids for sting operations was dangerous. All he got back was a middle finger emoji.

“Yep. It’s going to be one of those days,” he mumbled, letting Samson continue to pull him along.

\------------

ICHABOD CRANE

“Nyaaaoooow.”

“I know, I know! Just one more thing before I go!”

“Nyaaaaaaooooooow.”

“I don’t appreciate that tone, Toku.”

“Hsss.”

“Oh come on. It’s going to be—”

BOOM!

“Shit.”

Tokugawa was out of the kitchen faster than Ichabod could even process what had gone wrong with his experiment and noxious fumes filled the air. They barely managed to find their messenger bag before stumbling out and making a bee-line for the entryway. They caught Damian out of the corner of their eye while trying to slip into the first pair of shoes they could get their hands on.

“Sorry! Sorry! Uhh, downstairs kitchen is uhh…” Thinking it through, once the gas settled it was very likely that anything sitting out would be contaminated and…they’d abandoned their breakfast in there. “Just don’t eat the pancakes! Or…” On top of that, it would get on all the surfaces, so it was likely that the water would be contaminated for a bit. “Probably don’t drink the tap water for a day or two either. I’ve got to run!”

“Ick, seriously?”

“Can’t be late! Sorry!” They didn’t bother mentioning that they were going to be late in about two minutes…

“Just don’t slam the—”

SLAM!

Ichabod winced, knowing they’d hear about that later.

The commute to Neo-Gotham University was pretty easy if done right. Damian had no qualms upgrading Ichabod’s bus pass to a jet pass. They made it to the stop just as doors were closing. They shot the gap, nearly losing their bag in the process, and didn’t even have the time to brace themself before the commuter jet took off. It stopped not a minute later and Ichabod had to pick themself up off the floor at the back and scramble just to get off before it took off again.

Jet travel was a great commodity, but it required a certain amount of grace and dignity that Ichabod just didn’t seem to have. And the commuter jet was fully automated, so it didn’t leave much room for human error—which was basically Ichabod personified.

They managed to stumble into the lab three minutes after class started and the professor wasn’t even surprised. “Don’t even bother sitting down, Crane. Lab assignments were already made. You’re on morgue duty.”

Ichabod groaned.

Because of their name, Ichabod’s classmates decided that it would be a running joke to have them working in the cadaver lab all the time.

Ichabod did NOT love corpses.

It wasn’t that they didn’t handle dead bodies well—in fact, they had a stronger stomach than most of their classmates, so they really couldn’t complain about that—it was more that their curiosities lied more with the living. They couldn’t make a dead guy dance, after all.

Down in the cadaver lab, Ichabod was left with the most squeamish guy in med school. “Okay, time to see what killed the party today.” They pulled the assigned drawer open and their partner proceeded to throw up right on the cadaver. “Seriously?”

It took the majority of the day just to clean up the body. Ichabod had their partner wait in a corner with a waste basket to keep them from causing any more problems. Upon cracking open the cadaver’s chest, the sound of vomiting in the background only made them more annoyed.

“The place stinks enough already, man. Cut me some slack.”

“BLEAAAARRRGH!”

Ichabod groaned loudly but went about their examination. The organs all looked relatively healthy. Nothing was out of place. “Under different circumstances, this could have gone the other way around, huh? Ohh, the things one might find under the knife.” This cadaver, at least, proved challenging. “If I were something that could kill that were hard to find…”

They proceeded to run numerous tests for different chemicals and things that might have been the cause of death. Forensic science had updated quite miraculously in their lifetime. TV shows that portrayed information being available almost instantly had once been a poor portrayal of the actual time and effort required for such tests. Now? It was almost instant. In fact, forensic anthropology as a profession had become almost entirely outsourced to machines. People simply couldn’t be expected to achieve results quickly. All that was required was for them to properly work the machine and use the correct tests.

Of course, not everyone was smart enough to do that.

“Ah, here we go. Looks like they died from…” Ichabod winced upon seeing the results on the holo-projector in the room. “Great…”

“Ugh.” Ichabod’s partner finally pulled himself up and over to the holo, doing what he could to appear like he was participating. “Hema…hemo…like hemorrhage?”

“They suffered from an unknown type of viral hemorrhagic fever…mixed with…” Ichabod sighed. “Do you know where this body was donated from?”

“What? Why? It’s just a cadaver. They’re probably just cooking up some weird stuff in labs to see if we can suss out what the damage is.”

Ichabod shuddered at the thought that a lab somewhere might be mixing strains of illness and chemical compounds for fun (that wasn’t their own…of course). “We need to report it.”

“What? No way. Just pick a strain of the fever and we’ll hand that in for our report. No need to make this more complicated.”

Ichabod would love for this to be less complicated, but they just couldn’t stand by and ignore a new virus utilizing their father’s infamous fear toxin. “Don’t worry about your grade. I’m already going to report in that you yacked all over the corpse. Surely a few ‘complications’ aren’t going to affect your grade as much as that.”

Their partner was clearly annoyed but didn’t bother to speak up after that. The permeating stench of vomit over the usual smells of the cadaver lab were evidence enough for what had happened, after all. Ichabod didn’t tell their partner, however, that they weren’t going to include the actual cause of death in their report either. Instead they took the fall—knowing full well that they’d be graded poorly—but collected as much information and samples as possible before the class was over so that they could research the cause and see what information they could trace back to an origin.

“I don’t understand how you can be falling so far behind,” the professor noted upon receiving Ichabod’s incomplete report. “Dylan’s report was thorough. He was even able to figure out what the cause of death was, which was impressive, seeing as our own labs couldn’t pinpoint it.”

Ichabod made a mental note of that. The body had been donated having already been affected by the virus. That was only a little reassuring; it meant that the school wasn’t likely corrupt or supporting some corrupt psycho (probably).

“Guess I’m just having trouble in the cadaver lab,” Ichabod said with a cartoonish shrug. “Perhaps I’m better suited for the surgical floor or the—”

“No, you need to become confident in whatever position I place you in.” The professor’s response made Ichabod slouch. “I know you’re better than this, Crane. But if you don’t prove yourself soon, I’m afraid you’ll be kicked out of the program.”

Not a completely awful prospect these days, Ichabod thought. Of course, without proper medical licenses, they wouldn’t be allowed to pursue their true passions legally. “I’ll…I’ll do better,” they said weakly. “Just…don’t count me out yet, okay?”

“I have never let your differences count against you.”

Ichabod rolled their eyes. Maybe the professor didn’t think so, but he’d certainly used his little assumptions maliciously in Ichabod’s experience.

Still, it wasn’t worth arguing. The facts would always remain, so Ichabod would just continue to put up with them. There was nothing to be done for other peoples’ perceptions. It was best to just accept them and move on.

Not wanting to go through the whole mess of the commuter jet again, Ichabod chose to walk back to the mansion, stopping for some takeout along the way. They almost forgot that Damian was vegan but recalled with enough time to order some extra things as a sort of peace offering after Ichabod’s blunder that morning.

Upon getting home, they announced their presence loudly and Samson came bounding over. For such an introverted guy, Damian’s total love for his pets was something that Ichabod really appreciated. They weren’t much of an introvert—at least not purposefully—but they found that pets were much simpler to understand than people most of the time, and it spoke wonders to a person’s character if they were close with their pets.

Of course, there was no sign of Damian in the echoing halls of the mansion, so Ichabod and Samson took the clock entrance to the Batcave to find Damian already working at the Bat-Computer, fully dressed in his Batsuit.

“Ever wonder what other super heroes call their secret lairs?” Ichabod asked, making their presence known as they found a seat and continued to scratch Samson’s ears. “Like, did Green Arrow have a place called the ‘Quiver’? Maybe Aquaman had a ‘Fishbowl’! Wonder Woman would have had something like ‘Olympus’ and Hawkman and Hawkwoman would have ‘The Nest.’”

“Green Arrow had an Arrow Cave,” Damian muttered, showing that he was paying attention in spite of not missing a beat on the keyboard while Ichabod spoke. “Although…I think someone suggested Quiver before.” He finally pushed away from the keyboard to look right at Ichabod. “About this morning—”

“Yeah, sorry. I really shouldn’t take work to breakfast. I know that. But I was onto something and I’d been up all night working on it so I just thought that maybe I could finish it before—”

“Don’t slam the door,” Damian said gruffly, cutting Ichabod’s apology short. “The last thing I want to deal with is Father complaining about slammed doors.”

“O-oh…Yeah…My bad.” Ichabod wasn’t sure if they’d dodged a bullet or if Damian was just trying to be nice…Neither seemed likely, so they were particularly weary after that.

“I used your ‘Naptime’ capsules today.”

That at least got Ichabod to perk up. “Oh? No problems then? I was worried that they’d knock the speaker out again like the last batch, but if you’re here then—”

“They were perfectly effective. I still find the command word…childish, but that’s a matter of opinion I suppose. Still, I wish you’d take such things a little more seriously.”

Ichabod smirked. “Least I didn’t use my original plan for a command word.”

“I hesitate to ask.”

“Almost made it ‘Dope-and-Doze.’ You know how much I love alliteration, after all.”

Damian groaned at the thought.

Nice as it was to be so casual that night, Ichabod fought with the desire to tell Damian about what they'd found at school. Of course, Batman would want to know if a possible act of bioterrorism was looming over Neo-Gotham…but it was using Scarecrow’s drug, so Ichabod felt annoyingly responsible. As long as they could find a cure, it wouldn’t matter when Batman knew about it…right?

“Are you making progress with your studies?”

“Hm? Oh, sure. It’s all too easy.”

“That’s good…”

Ichabod rolled their eyes, knowing that Damian wasn’t good for much more small talk. They set the plastic bag full of takeout food in front of Damian. “I remembered your favorites this time.”

“There is no form of takeout food that I consider to be a ‘favorite.’”

“Yeah, well, I got things that were vegan friendly. How about that, you spoiled jerk?”

Damian scoffed, but took the box with the ‘V’ written on it and the two of them enjoyed a cheap dinner together before he would go out on patrol that night.

\--------------

JASON TODD 

Jason didn’t feel great about sending Mia out that morning. He didn’t like involving kids in his work at all (Babe was an odd exception…given the way that they met and the way that she was, he never really considered her to be anything less than a hyper-intelligent…person…of small stature…). But the kid’s circumstances really hit home for Jason. Raised by a single mother, Dad went to buy cigarettes one day and never came back, and they were just struggling to get food on the table.

Personally, Jason would have never taken a handout. He’d have sooner robbed a guy than be seen at the local soup kitchen. So, he couldn’t just give the kid creds. The kid had to feel like he earned them, otherwise what was he going to do when he needed more? Beg? No.

Still, it was hell to know that Neo-Gotham wasn’t any better than old Gotham. Under that synthetic dome-thing, beneath all the fake and shiny surfaces of the hyper-modern city, the grimy underworld still reigned supreme. And as long as that was true, Jason would make it his personal goal to rule over that underworld.

“Did the transfer go through for Ty, Pup Pup?”

Jason never could get used to the little Superman plush he’d gotten for Biz all those years ago moving around and operating things like brainy-Biz once had, but if the big guy was still attached to it, Jason wouldn’t dream of abandoning the little thing.

“Transfer went smoothly. Ty’s got 500 untraceable credits added to his account. But Mia called in. Apparently she got caught by Damian.”

Jason scoffed. “What’s he going to do in broad daylight? Citizen’s arrest her for helping a kid out?”

“Uhh, it sounds like he left her with his dogs.”

Jason rolled his eyes and pulled up the camera feeds for the general area where the transfer had happened. Mia was standing by, confused while holding onto Ace and Samson’s leashes, looking out at the end of the block. Jason pulled up the feed from around the corner just in time to watch Damian use some gas to knock out a couple Jokerz and Ty. “Damn. Jokerz have gotten pretty ruthless lately. Have we looked into that, Puppo?”

“There’s not much to see. The number of Jokerz related crimes has quadrupled in the last month alone. A lot of new faces as well. They must have had some recruitment push recently.”

“I don’t like that. Look into it more this week. Jokerz aren’t organized and they don’t follow any one particular figure, just the old clown’s fucked up ideology.”

“That’s what makes them difficult to keep track of,” Pup Pup confessed. “The Joker’s methods were unorthodox. Even I haven’t been able to make a system that could predict or explain his behavior.”

Jason sighed and rubbed at the part of his shoulder where his arm had once been. “Right. Of course not. How are our assets holding up?”

“The Iceberg Lounge is prospering accordingly. Anastasia paid up your percentage yesterday and it’s exceeded expectations. Their idea to use Artemis as a bouncer was ingenious. People of all genders and orientations gather just to see the Q’s, and Artemis is one hell of a looker too, so she fits in great. Clara has been a great asset as well, helping them to establish their Minus 5 VIP room with actual temperature regulation.”

“I’m sure Art would love to hear you say that about her.”

“Mmm, she could beat the stuffing out of me any day.”

“Gross. She’s practically your mother.”

“Eh. Gorgeous as she is, I agree with Big B. You and her are always the endgame.”

Jason winced at that one. “Art and I…that was never going to work.”

“Keep telling yourself that, Red. Oh…Uhh, looks like Ty got a large donation from Damian…Oh boy.”

“What? What did that asshole do?”

“Ten thousand creds.”

Jason laughed. “Just couldn’t leave well enough alone. Whatever. Kid’s earned it. Tell Mia to keep an eye on him anyways. I don’t want to find out his mom’s an addict and that donation gets misused.”

“Message sent.” Pup Pup looked up from his holo-screen and frowned. “Uhh, you don’t look so good, Red.”

Jason was still pressing his hand over his shoulder. “Just the old wound acting up. Ghost pain. It’s nothing.”

Pup Pup was smart enough to know that, given how long-ago Jason had lost his arm, still feeling pain like that was highly unusual. “You should get it checked out. Get a prosthetic already. It’s not like you can’t afford it.”

“Don’t want one. Don’t need one. It’s fine, Pup.”

“O-okay, but today’s the day that—”

“Todd. You look as well as a one-armed man can.” Talia liked to enter without warning. She felt it was her right when it came to Jason’s establishments. After all, she was the one who had brought him back with the Lazarus Pit. As far as she was concerned, she still owned him.

“Ms. Al Ghul, today’s actually not great. Jason’s not feeling—”

Talia swatted Pup Pup away like he was nothing more than a fly. “It’s funny how you think you get to cancel on me.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, old hag. The plush doesn’t speak for me.” Jason left his seat to greet her and wound up wincing. The phantom pain was really bothering him, but he knew exactly what was making it act up. “Do me a favor and use the actual phlebotomy kit this time. It’s a real pain to get blood out of my suit.”

Talia marched right up to him, her stiletto heels clicking with every step. Most women in shoes like that would struggle just to walk. Jason knew that, if she wanted to, she could kill a man with them. She placed a hand on his chest and shoved him back into his seat. Jason may have been frozen in time, never aging past his early twenties, but Talia simply refused to age past her prime. However, the Lazarus Pit had been lost to her family years back.

Jason had been the solution.

As it turned out, his blood had the same restorative properties as the Pit, unlike most people who bathed in it. The reason was: he had been placed in the Pit dead and rose from it alive. The Lazarus Pit had granted him new life rather than simply restoring the life that he had, but to keep him alive, it remained active in his system. Because of this, Talia demanded that Jason provide her with enough of a blood supply to maintain a sort of pseudo-Pit as she saw fit. At least twice monthly she would drop in and take blood.

Initially the trade wasn’t well coordinated. One day she just showed up and it seemed like she had every intention of slitting his throat and bleeding him dry.

It took her stopping and explaining the purpose of her visit to establish that Jason’s death wouldn’t benefit her in the slightest.

Rather than argue over it further, Jason agreed to give her as much blood as his body would allow on a fixed schedule. Even he recognized, after all, that he was in her debt.

“I’m going to take a wild guess and say you’d like the needle in your left arm,” she teased as she waited for him to remove his jacket and set his arm on his desk.

“Your son’s still a pain in my ass,” he informed her as she set up a tourniquet. “Have you heard about his new roommate?”

“Oh? Has the Super Son finally moved in?”

“Still a no.”

Talia grimaced. “Truly a shame that my son couldn’t find a suitable woman. I could use a true heir.” She slid the needle into Jason’s vein with ease and he waited for her to connect it to the bag before flexing his hand over and over again. With each movement the phantom pain became worse. It always came around when Talia was near. Something about the Pit in her system reacting to the Pit in his. “Of course, if the Super had only been born female…Ahh, what wonders I’d be able to accomplish with a Kryptonian heir.”

“Good to hear you’re still just as messed up as ever. Have you even talked to him lately?”

Talia scoffed. “You know full well that my son has cut all ties with me.”

“Gee, I wonder why.” Jason thought back to the anniversary of Alfred’s passing and sighed. “Look…It’s not exactly a secret that Bruce’s health is failing him.”

“Beloved made it clear to me a long time ago that he would not accept the aid of the Lazarus Pit.”

“And he made you promise that when he was sound of mind, right? Guy’s got dementia now. He still thinks your son is Grayson. He still asks for his butler. Can’t you just—”

“I will respect his wishes,” she said softly. “At least in this, I can honor him.”

“But your son has been left to deal with it all,” Jason pointed out. “Not that he and I are friendly or anything but cut the guy some slack.”

“Perhaps you’ve forgotten that you are my living Lazarus now,” she pointed out. “If you want to heal Bruce, who is stopping you?”

Jason grimaced. She was right. There was an ingrained understanding that Bruce would hate him for helping in that way. Jason could practically hear the enraged lecture even though he hadn’t actually spoken to the old man in years. Even if he’d essentially cut all ties, the respect he once had for Batman would always be there.

“But Damian’s the only one still looking out for the old bastard,” Jason mumbled. “It’s got to take a toll on him.”

“Beloved always seemed determined to be a thorn in everyone’s side right until his dying breath,” Talia noted. “Who are we to deny him that right?”

“Hey, for a while that was kind of my life goal,” Jason joked. Talia leaned in closer to him, knowing full well the effect she had on his injuries, threatening to pull him into a possessive kiss. “Ngh. Get away from me, Ghul. This is a fight you won’t win.”

She caressed his cheek smugly. “You were always the most promising of his protégé. Perhaps Father refused to see it, and I know Beloved refused to acknowledge it, but you were always destined for greatness. In the end, my boy, you’ll be the one still standing. Don’t take that for granted. You’re a survivor.”

Jason began to sweat, the discomfort in his shoulder and eye socket threatening to overwhelm his consciousness as more blood flowed out of him. But before Talia could do anything else, a large axe leveled with her face.

“Remove yourself, she-devil, before I remove you.”

Talia sighed and slipped away from Jason, removing the needle from his arm and taking her bag of blood to go. “You’re such a good attack dog, Artemis. Perhaps someday he’ll promote you from lieutenant of his guard to bed warmer where you truly belong.”

“If he doesn’t mind me warming his bed with your blood, you precocious old hag, then I will accept the job with pleasure.”

“Ladies, please. We’re all adults here. Let’s act like it.”

Talia took her leave, not even stopping to thank Jason or set up the next time she’d be dropping in. As soon as she shut the door, he stood up and moved a bit unstably his personal bathroom. He threw the medicine cabinet open, fished out a box of small adhesive bandages and his medicine of choice.

“Jason, I wish you wouldn’t indulge her,” Artemis grumbled, leaning in the doorway. “She’s going to kill you someday.”

“Then she’ll just be reclaiming what’s owed to her,” he noted before pressing a slapper to the stump at his right shoulder. He inhaled deeply as mixture of Venom and hallucinogens overwhelmed him, making his phantom pain seem like nothing more than a phantom memory.

Artemis stepped into the bathroom and lovingly applied the little bandage over the still bleeding spot on his arm before leading him from his office back to his room. She forced him onto his bed, which was difficult when he was on Slappers. She didn’t judge him for his usage of the drug that he had gotten so involved in the production and selling of. The sensation of restored and maximized strength coupled with the drugs that had been added in order to prevent one from falling into a power-induced state of agitation were ideal for his condition. Still, he relied on Slappers more and more these days, which worried her.

“You aren’t simply a living corpse for her amusement,” Artemis reminded him as she got him to lay back. “You never were. Your death was never meant to happen. She simply corrected an error, just as we once did for Biz.”

“We fixed Biz and basically sold our souls to Luthor,” he reminded her. “Don’t worry about her. Crazy as she is, she’d never act out against her son. I mean, not anymore.” His pupils widened considerably as he stared up at Artemis. “Hey…I’m sorry.”

She let her hand rest against his cheek on the side where he’d lost an eye. “You have no reason to apologize to me.”

“Then…thank you…”

She raised his hand to her lips and kissed it. Jason marveled at just how gentle she could be. Artemis was the most powerful woman he’d ever known. He respected that about her. Her insistence on staying by his side was something that he never could understand. But ever since he came to her, bleeding out from what his own brother had done to him, she had remained with him. It was affection that he didn’t deserve. After what had been done to Sasha…Scarlet…

Artemis pressed a kiss to Jason’s scarred eye before leaving him to rest. He knew that she would take care of everything in his absence. It would take him the rest of the day just to recover from the proximity to Talia.

\-----------------

DICK GRAYSON 

It wasn’t easy to keep tabs on the boys. Dick had accepted a long time ago that Tim would take care of himself and prayed that his duties to the timestream would keep him far away from Neo-Gotham. On what rare occasions Tim did track him down, Dick could at least count on his little brother being more understanding.

Damian was a real challenge. Dick never wanted to hurt him. Never wanted anything to happen to him. Once upon a time he’d even hoped that Damian might be the one to finally move past the legacy that Bruce had laid out for them and have a normal life. That all changed after his rebirth. As a Talon, he clashed with Batman often. There was no way around that. If he was anything less than brutal, the Court would punish him far worse, so he did what he could to keep up the façade.

Jason…Jason was the worst of it.

Dick left a white lily at Alfred’s grave and sat down. He couldn’t hope to visit on the anniversary of his passing—the boys wouldn’t take his presence well.

Dick could feel the all-consuming chill in his body from the lack of Electrum. He had to go back soon or he would die, and then who would watch after them? No. He couldn’t just fade out. The Court would destroy everything he loved if he let himself die.

CLICK.

Dick didn’t even flinch at the sound of the police-issue gun cocking nearby. He’d heard her approach the whole time.

“You know…It really sucks every time I see you.”

Dick just kept his eyes trained on Alfred’s gravestone. “I can’t even imagine.”

“What do you want, Dick?” Barbara sat down next to him, still keeping her gun ready in her hand. Dick could only see her out of the corner of his eye, but he could tell just how good she looked in the overcoat that she’d kept from her father’s time as commissioner. It smelled faintly of tobacco. He wondered if she’d picked up her father’s bad habit just as she’d picked up where he left off. “I’ve got enough work on my hands. Jokerz are spreading like a disease these days.”

Dick let his eyes close for a long moment. It was hard to talk to her. One wrong word and he would put her and everyone else in danger. The Court was kind enough to allow him these brief visits; the purpose of which was doubtlessly to reinforce his connections so that he would still suffer upon losing them.

“I just…wanted to see you.”

Barbara was smart. That much hadn’t changed. She’d risen in the ranks at NGCPD and had the best arrest record of any detective because of her unmatched intelligence. The fact that Dick was able to speak to her at all meant that he wasn’t the mindless killer that Damian had come to believe he was.

“You look awful,” she commented, finally holstering her gun. Dick was uncomfortable with her proximity now that she wasn’t immediately armed. One order from the Court and he’d have to take one of his feather blades and leave her bleeding out over the very earth where Alfred had been buried. “Have you eaten anything?”

“I…I don’t,” he told her. “My body…doesn’t require that anymore.”

She shuddered. “So they’re just not keeping you at your best then.” It was a statement. Like she knew that he was being punished. The certainty in her voice made him smile. Once upon a time he might have actually believed that she could help him. “I take it they’re not sending you out after Batman any time soon then?”

“Not after Damian at least,” Dick whispered.

“Should I put security detail on the mansion then? Can’t have you going after Bruce. Plus there’s that new resident there.”

Dick shook his head. “You could line the whole place with Gotham’s finest and I’d just make the floors run red with their blood. You know that.”

Barbara got back to her feet and placed her hand on Alfred’s headstone. “So this is just for your benefit then? If that’s all, I’ve got better places to be.”

Dick couldn’t look up at her. That meant confirming her words. It meant betraying his masters. He just had to be happy with what little time he could spend with her.

“Steph sent a postcard from Australia yesterday.”

Dick’s jaw set. He hated thinking about what he’d done to Stephanie. The only good thing that came from it was that she was far away from Neo-Gotham now. If only Jason had taken the same opportunity.

“Cass really likes kangaroos, apparently. Isn’t that cute?”

Cassandra might have been able to stop Dick. He didn’t doubt that, pushed to it, she would slit his throat to protect the others. Which made him wonder if that was why she volunteered to leave with Stephanie. It really killed him inside to think that even now she was protecting him.

“Don’t know if you’re aware of Damian and Jon’s thing but that hasn’t really gone anywhere. It doesn’t seem all that surprising that Damian would keep a relationship a secret, but it kind of sucks to know that he’s keeping quiet because, of all people, Superman doesn’t approve.”

A long time ago, Dick would have broken down. He’d curl in on himself and cry. He’d crave the warmth of an embrace from Barbara—his first love—and the reassurance that he would be okay. That was before his conditioning. Before the orders that had changed everything.

The chill in his bones was getting worse. As much as he wanted to hold onto this moment forever, if he didn’t get back soon, his body would expire. He got to his feet and stared just a bit longer at Alfred’s grave.

“Hey, do me a favor and stay away from Jason, okay?”

Not that any request from Barbara would mean anything to the Court. Jason couldn’t even pretend to acknowledge her as she explained why. “None of us want to see you dead…except for him. I truly feel like he’d have no qualms putting your head on a spike and using it as a puppet.”

Dick wanted to tell her that he’d deserve that. That Jason had every right to wish that and worse upon him. But that would be a confession. Confessions meant punishment. Punishment meant hurting Barbara.

“It was nice to see you,” he said softly.

“I wish I could say the same,” she replied. She sounded tired. Perhaps age was catching up with her. Dick hadn’t aged in so long…he almost missed the jokes about his age that Tim and Damian used to throw around. Now even Damian had matured beyond him.

He walked all the way into Neo-Gotham, his body threatening to break down with every step. There was a Court-owned building nearby. He just needed to make it there.

On his way, he saw a kid get attacked by a group of Jokerz. Once upon a time, instinct would have kicked in and he’d have been fighting the freaks off in a heartbeat. Now he found himself hoping that they’d just kill the kid quick so he wouldn’t have to suffer. But a good Samaritan with an odd drug happened by and took care of everything. Dick wondered if his masters would make him kill off that Samaritan too one day. No use for such altruism in Neo-Gotham.

Finally, he slipped into the Court building, accessed the hidden entrance to the Talons’ quarters, and crawled into the cylinder with his name on it. He enclosed himself in the claustrophobic space and waited. When the icy liquid filled the tank he swallowed the fear of drowning and braced himself for the forced sleep. The electrum would preserve him and allow him to continue living. Living meant he could still be of use to the Court. Living meant he could still protect what mattered.

Living also meant, without a doubt, that he’d kill again.

\---------------

JONATHAN KENT

Jon found himself daydreaming about Damian a little too often at the Watchtower. It had been too long since they’d last spoken. He still felt guilty about once again turning on his beloved upon his father showing up.

Even as an old man who couldn’t remember where he was 90 percent of the time, Bruce accepted what he and Damian had without a problem. Why couldn’t Jon’s dad be like that?

“Just go see him.”

“Huh?”

Jon hadn’t even realized he’d zoned out during the group meeting until Mira was leaning against his back, smiling at him like the Cheshire cat.

“Oh please. Just because you think everyone else’s fooled doesn’t mean I’m an idiot.” She placed her hand over Jon’s chest, feeling his heart pounding against it. “You only ever get hot and bothered like this when you’re thinking about Bats.”

Jon caught her hand and shushed her. “We can’t talk about that here!”

“No one here would care,” she blurted out. “I mean, no one of our generation, I think. Besides, what do you care? You love the guy, right?”

Jon shook his head. “That’s none of your business.”

Mira shrugged. “Can’t say I didn’t try. But look, things are quiet out here. No looming threats in space, no known tears in the universe, and no invasions to worry about. Why not just go pay him a visit? It’s been a little while, right?”

Jon hated taking advice from Mira. She was young. Rash. And worst of all: completely oblivious to her own situation with Lucy. But maybe she was onto something.

“I’ll just…just check on him.”

“Oh sure. A little light stalking is always romantic.”

“Thanks for the advice, but I don’t really need—”

“Oh! There’s a whole thing going on at Wayne Manor next week!” she announced. “Some charity ball. I’ll be there to show off the latest Diamonique pieces. You should check in with your boytoy! See if he’ll invite you to—”

“There’s no way I’d go to a public event as his…as his…”

Mira groaned loudly. “You’re such a buzzkill!”

Not wanting to listen to her any longer, Jon zipped over to the Watchtower’s zeta-tubes and sent himself to the Hall of Justice in Metropolis, flying over to Neo-Gotham immediately after.

It was always a little unsettling, passing through Neo-Gotham’s fake atmosphere thing. Like pushing through a bubble where the other side, however cleaner, felt alarmingly artificial. Upon reaching the rooftop of the mansion, however, Jon found his determination all but lost. If Damian was still mad he’d…he wasn’t sure what he’d do. He just wanted to hold his boyfriend in his arms and—

No…not boyfriend. Never boyfriend. Boyfriend was too…official. They’d never be allowed that sort of happiness.

Jon used his x-ray vision to peek through the mansion. He found Bruce resting and the cats each hidden in their respective territories, but no other signs of life, which meant Damian had taken the dogs out.

It was a little reassuring to know that Damian still had time to indulge his pets. Jon knew how much that meant to him. Hell, he never forgot the first day that he met Damian Wayne; one little mishap with his newfound powers had led to a cat getting hurt in the crossfire and Damian had straight up threatened to kill him for what he’d done.

Some things would never change.

Jon kept to the skies, searching the city for signs of Damian while trying to come up with the right thing to say to apologize. Everything that came to mind felt like a pathetic excuse. There had to be a way to make Damian understand…He loved him. He really did. Perhaps it would make more sense if they just…stopped trying to…trying to…

Jon shook his head and spotted Ace and Samson at a street corner. Upon approaching, however, he realized that it wasn’t Damian holding the leash, but some startled woman. Upon closer examination Jon recognized one of Green Arrow’s old sidekicks. Emiko was still working with the Titans. Every now and then she’d check in with Damian and try to convince him to join them. Jon didn’t appreciate it, but at least it gave Damian something to look forward to…assuming he appreciated Emiko’s continued attempts to bring him into the fold.

Was this sidekick still active? Jon didn’t know of any other archers in the League or the Hero Registry at present. Neo-Gotham seemed to attract a lot of people like that.

While lost in thought, Jon almost didn’t notice the altercation happening a block over. A couple of weird people dressed up like the Joker were harassing some kid.

If Jon were to interfere, he’d make his presence in Neo-Gotham known and would likely incite more anger from Damian, but still, he couldn’t just leave the kid to suffer. So he moved closer only to wind up hiding on the roof over the altercation as some good Samaritan arrived.

Jon watched from afar as a gas dispersed and all parties except for the stranger collapsed. Knowing what sort of awful drugs had come out of Gotham in the past, Jon was immediately put on edge, but the guy who’d unleashed the cloud did something to the kid that woke him up. Jon listened in as the man gave the kid some quick explanation before sending him off. Jon watched the man head towards the girl with Damian’s dogs.

Unable to satisfy his curiosity from that distance, Jon dropped down to check on the Joker wannabe’s. They were still breathing, just knocked out. Jon inhaled deeply, trying to see if he could recognize the drug or at least test its effects—his half-human biology would often be affected by such things while his Kryptonian half would help him to metabolize it quickly.

But he couldn’t feel anything unusual.

Still curious, Jon floated back up to the rooftops and trailed along with the stranger. He used his x-ray vision again and realized that it wasn’t a stranger, but Damian in disguise. Jon scoffed, somewhat amused to know that Damian was still handling things so gracefully. But the puff of smoke…was that something that Ichabod had created then?

Jon’s enhanced hearing picked up on what Damian was muttering to himself and, upon hearing ‘Naptime,’ it was like a switch had been flipped.

-

Jon awoke confused. He sat up and looked around. He was on a rooftop…where? He floated up and recognized the skyline of Neo-Gotham. He’d passed out on the roof…Why? He floated down to the sidewalk, careful not to be spotted by anyone, and walked over to where he recalled the Joker people being. No sign of them now. Hopefully the police got to them. He then went around to where the girl had been with Damian’s dogs. No trace of them aside from some fur that Samson must have shed while there.

Jon rubbed the sleep from his eyes, recognizing the sensation of having awakened from a mild, drug induced coma. Ichabod, without a doubt, had been behind it…somehow…

It only took a minute to get back to the mansion. He kept his distance this time as he scanned it. Ichabod and Damian were both in the cave, sharing a meal together. Jon’s chest hurt at the sight. He listened in on their conversation. It was nothing special. In fact, is was boringly casual. But the fact that Damian could do that with someone other than Jon made him…jealous.

“What gives me the right?” he muttered to himself. He knew that his possessive feelings for Damian were more hurtful than helpful. He wished that he could be better. Wished he could be like his father. The real Superman was the embodiment of altruism. Jon was just a sorry knock-off. Couldn’t live up to his father and couldn’t live with his own feelings. It was truly pathetic. “Maybe some other time,” he said sadly, choosing not to show his face to Damian.

He reconsidered attending the Wayne event that Mira had mentioned. That way he’d at least be able to see Damian with the buffer of a crowd if needed.

\----------------

BONUS!

LUCY QUINZEL

“Ya buncha bozo’s aren’t even worth my time.”

It was days like these that made Lucy rethink her ‘no weapons’ policy. She’d taken down a small gang of Jokerz with brute strength alone (okay, her acrobatics helped too, but still…). She threw one last punch, making sure the last of them was knocked out cold. Only then did she pull away and shake her hand out.

“Yyyow! Sonofabitch! I thought you jerks would have fragile glass jaws, not bulletproof glass jaws!” She blew on the cuts on her knuckles, quietly relishing in the burning pain that came from them. Taking pleasure from pain was, after all, wrong. She knew better. But she just couldn’t help it sometimes. She wasn’t like her parents. She didn’t enjoy hurting people. It didn’t give her any pleasure to beat people up (that was a bold-faced lie, but whatever. She at least made sure that the people had it coming), but it brought a smile to her face when she inflicted pain upon herself.

“Oh Auntie, if you could see me now,” she muttered, unable to wipe the smile from her face.

The name ‘Pennywise’ meant very little to most people of Neo-Gotham. Just like the Jokerz were a common problem, she was largely ignored. So stepping out from under the bridge in her blood-covered costume wasn’t anything weird. She gave the NGCPD tip line a call and, in her usual sing-song voice, told them about a gang of Jokerz and where they could be picked up.

“Oh, no names. Sorry. Just consider me a little angel, helping to clean up the streets!” She hung up before the man on the line could get another word in and scaled back up to the main road where she’d parked her jet bike. Upon finding it missing its left jet, she felt the pent-up frustration explode.

“FUCK!” She kicked the side of the bike hard enough that it was highly likely she’d broken her own toe in the process. “MOTHER FUCKING FUCKY FUCK!”

“Ahhem!”

With her injured foot still in her hands, Lucy looked over her shoulder to find a rather handsome young man—fully clad in a classic leather jacket and with that slicked back hair that was popular at the turn of the century—looking her over (meh, maybe he was a little good looking, at second glance. Nothing that special…).

“You, uh, look like you could use some help.”

Lucy scoffed. She was slight, sure. Some people even described her as being waif-like. For whatever reason, men seemed to like that. Drove her nuts. She had enough strength and skill to take down men who were significantly larger than her, but because she was small, everyone wanted to coddle her.

“Look, toots,” she spat, hoping that the old-fashioned term more commonly used for women would damage this stranger’s masculinity somehow, “‘less that’s a spare jet in your pants and not what I think it is, then you’re not going to be of any help here.”

The guy smirked, his plush lips quirking up at one side with a smile that didn’t quite seem to match his face (looking at him now, maybe those pale blue eyes WERE a little distracting…or at the least eerily familiar…). “Would it surprise you to know that’s exactly what that is?” He took a micro-jet out of his pocket and pressed the release button, allowing the nanobots to reshape so that the size of the jet matched the one still on Lucy’s bike.

Lucy found herself feeling a little speechless…which only lasted for a moment, of course. She was far too fond of the sound of her own voice. “Well, fuck me. I guess I shouldn’t judge so fast, huh?”

The guy shrugged and tossed her the jet. “I don’t blame you. You’d think I’d be more careful, helping out a girl covered in blood.”

Lucy looked herself over again and laughed. “Yeah, what’s the deal there, huh? I’m a bloody clown. Isn’t that usually a bad sign? Fear meeee!”

The guy shrugged. “You’re not one of the Jokerz. If you were, you’d be taking your frustrations out on something other than your own bike.”

She gestured towards her blood-stained clown costume. “Seriously? You don’t think I’m one of the Jokerz? That’s a bold assumption.”

The guy crossed his arms, not showing any signs of concern. “You haven’t exactly proven me wrong.”

Lucy clicked her tongue. “You just might be crazier than me, dude.” She let the jet attach itself to her bike before looking back again. “You uhh, expecting payment for that?”

“Nah. Just thought I’d help you out. You look like you could use it.”

Lucy narrowed her eyes, trying to memorize the features of this guy’s face (which was oddly difficult. It was like she knew the guy…but she knew that she didn’t. He really looked familiar. Didn’t sound all that familiar though. Must have just been her imagination). “Well then…Thanks.”

There wasn’t really much more to be said, so she kick-started her bike and sped off. She figured she had enough time to hit up her apartment for a shower and a change of clothes, then she’d spend an hour or two at the zeta-tube location to see if Mira might pay her a visit. She knew that her beloved Ms. Miracle would be in town soon for the stupid Wayne event, but she just couldn’t wait to see her.

She played time-killing games on her cellphone while waiting, but not a single Leaguer used the Neo-Gotham zeta point that night. After a few hours of fighting with pop-up ads, one ad came up for the upcoming Wayne Enterprises charity event. Desperate for a glimpse of Mira in her latest dress, she clicked the link and was treated with, instead, a brief history of the Wayne family.

“Pshh. I know all about the Waynes,” she mumbled, almost cutting the video off before something caught her eye.

An old picture of Bruce Wayne flashed on the screen, his pale blue eyes burning holes into her.

“Oh! Oh wow, they coulda been twins!” she exclaimed to no one in particular. When a picture of Damian came up soon after she grimaced. “Not you, though. Nope. Green eyes, tan, kinda sharp features. Huh. How weird. I wonder if anybody tells that guy that he looks like a young Bruce Wayne?” She delighted in the thought (how funny that a young Bruce Wayne had helped out the daughter of Batman’s greatest nemesis, right? Or was that not funny. Sometimes things like that didn’t quite make sense to Lucy).

Realizing just how late it was (and hearing her stomach growling like an angry tiger after she’d forgotten to eat again), she finally gave up on waiting for Mira in favor of a grocery run. Upon leaving the grocery store, she caught a couple of Jokerz trying to pry the jets off her bike. She let the bags fall to the concrete and cracked her knuckles. “Oh, you freaks are gonna regret that.”

“Oh yeah? What’s a pretty little thing like you gonna do about it?”

No need for weapons. The Joker had loved toys almost as much as Batman did, and Harley Quinn was known for her hammer and her baseball bat. Lucy didn’t need those. She was better than her parents (or worse, but at least she was trying to do good while they were just plain agents of chaos).

But that didn’t mean she didn’t fight dirty.

One hard kick right between the Jokerz’ legs and the guy shrieked and dropped. His friend was so shocked that he barely had the sense to try to run. Lucy took her shoe off and sent it flying, the heel stabbing into the back of the guy’s neck (it didn’t count as a weapon if it wasn’t supposed to be used as one…right?).

“Teach you fucks to fuck with my bike,” she muttered as she retrieved her shoe and groceries, hanging the bags off the handles as she took off into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo that was Lucy as I imagine her for this story! Ain't she delightful?
> 
> And as for the mysterious handsome (or not) stranger, I hope I made him obvious enough. He's a more recognizable character ^_^ He'll be making a formal appearance soon too. Same goes for the bane of Jon's existence in the League: Mira. The next chapter may be up soon (I hope!).
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	7. Charity Chaos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A charity event at the Wayne Mansion brings people from all over to Neo-Gotham. Among them, towering over all, stands the supermodel: Mira Free. Her lavish lifestyle is coupled with the usual turmoil of any other superhero, but the event throws everyone an unexpected curveball.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay! Time for that new OC I promised! I hope Mira's as well accepted as Icky has been!

“Smile for me Mira!”

“Marry me Mira!”

“Mira, let me touch you!”

The attention that Mira got at fashion shows wasn’t anything that she couldn’t handle. She held her pose for the cameras; standing alone to show off her independence as a powerful woman. The dress she was wearing was from the biggest name in fashion—which she couldn’t pronounce or remember anyways—and it rested on her curves perfectly; a deep shade of purple with off the shoulder sleeves, slits that alternated sides and reached from her spine to her stomach (a newer style that was tricky to pull off but suited her just fine), and a medium length skirt with a black dahlia design that people either thought of as a bold statement or having been in poor taste. She looked good in longer dresses, but this designer seemed to be completely taken with her legs, as was further evinced by the shoes; diamond-studded stilettos that could kill, adding a solid 6 inches to her already astounding 7 feet of height (6’10”, but she liked to round it up). Her auburn hair had been blown out just for the show and still reached the middle of her back.

“Mira, do you have a moment? Please tell us what it’s like to have a double life!”

“Mira, are you really a hero?”

“Mira!”

“Mira!”

“Mira!”

Mira’s status as a superhero was never really a secret. Initially her fellow heroes had encouraged her to take on an alter ego, but the fact of the matter was: not many women stood as tall as she did, so it was all but impossible to stay under the radar. Besides, her grand height had worked out in her favor; it was while performing heroic feats that were caught on camera that she was discovered. Most models didn’t get much over six feet and barely reached Mira’s chest while wearing heels. And the nearly instant fame her modeling career afforded her provided her with more than enough of an income to make it on her own.

And so, at the ripe age of seventeen, Mira was officially emancipated from her parents who had gone to live on Apokolips and struck it out on her own back on Earth.

“No questions, please! Ms. Free has a very busy schedule! Stay behind the line! Hey!”

Mira didn’t mind the crazy fans who just wanted to touch her. She found them almost adorable in their desperation. That night was no different; just another fanatic, dying for her attentions.

“Mimiiii!”

Of course, this particular fan somehow always managed to catch her of guard.

“You can’t just throw yourself on me while I’m working! If you get mascara on this dress I will kill you!”

Lucy was not only her biggest fan, but a fellow hero who she had worked with on several occasions. Thanks to Lucy’s family background, she was overlooked when it came to enlisting with the Teen Titans or the Justice League teams, so she was a self-proclaimed lone wolf vigilante.

But that lone wolf was almost annoyingly attached to Mira.

“Mimi, you have to help me! Please!”

“Did you miss the red carpet when you came barreling over? I’m busy. Now get out of here before I sic security on you again.”

Lucy buried her face against Mira’s pelvis, pressing against her rather inappropriately as photographers went wild. “Pweeeaaaz!”

Mira had had enough. She picked Lucy up by the frill of her costume and held her at arm’s length like a scorned puppy. “I swear, you’re more trouble than you’re worth! Now get out of here before I become your biggest problem!”

Lucy whimpered as Mira set her down, but she didn’t protest, just ran off to deal with whatever nonsense she had dragged along to the annual Wayne Foundation Charity Event.

“Everybody stand aside! Show’s over! Move it!”

Mira was led through the crowd by her security team, who got her to a dressing room quickly where another dress was already waiting for her. She knew that the dress she was wearing was going to come out of her pay for the event and groaned at the colorful makeup stain that showed a cartoonish face.

She loved the next dress even more, though; long and black fading to fiery red towards the lower half of the full skirt. The neckline put the word “plunging” to shame as it dipped all the way down to her bellybutton. Her stylists fixed her makeup and did her hair up in a royal braided bun so that the intricate lace pattern of angelic wings on the back of the dress could be seen. She was given a pair of black stiletto ankle boots, each with minimal silver studs just over the top of her feet to give her a sleek, punk sort of look. The diamond studs in her ears were quickly removed and replaced with elegant black pearl drops instead and the choker she was wearing replaced with strings of black pearls. When she was let back out to mingle, she was back at the top of her game, showing off the new outfit as no one else could.

Finally, free to roam, Mira did an appropriate amount of mingling while searching for Damian. They weren’t overly close—they’d never worked together beyond moments of pure circumstance back on Apokolips—but it was a rare opportunity to catch the Bat out of his natural habitat (AKA the shroud of night in the musty streets of his perpetually filthy city), and some sympathetic company sounded nice.

The only trouble was Damian was nowhere to be seen at his own party.

Mira did, however, find Jon tugging at the bowtie he was wearing while talking to someone with silver hair. She excused herself from the small cluster of people who had flocked to her in favor of getting to someone that she knew. “Jon! Fancy seeing you here,” she winked at him knowingly and he blushed slightly and cleared his throat, pretending not to know what she was referring to. “Any chance you’ve seen the man of the house? It’s not every day the mansion’s opened up to events like this. Thought I’d pay Mr. Wayne a visit.”

Jon fidgeted again and said in a low mumble, “That’s what I was asking.”

Mira’s eyes shifted to the silver haired person Jon had been talking to who was now staring up at her with pure admonishment. “Asking them?” she wondered. “If anybody’s going to have a bead on him I thought for sure it’d be you.”

“R-right. Mira, this is Ichabod. They’re Damian’s tenant,” Jon said as a quick introduction. “And—”

“Oh my god, you’re even more incredible in person,” Ichabod blurted out. “S-sorry. There isn’t a soul our generation who’s not deeply in love with the pin-up powerhouse; Ms. Miracle. And-and I never…erm. Excuse me.” Their voice was jumping octaves all over the place as they tried to speak to her. While they were busy fumbling for the right words, Mira quietly admired their bold choice in outfit: a smoky orange blazer with black checkered pattern over a loose-fitting blouse of the same color but snakeskin pattern. The plunging neckline dipped down to show the curves of the person’s breasts without giving too much away. They also wore a more brown-orange tone pair of paper-bag pants that the snakeskin blouse was tucked into.

“…so when I was a kid I still kinda looked up to—”

“—cute.”

Ichabod froze. “H-huh?”

“You’re kinda cute,” she said outright. “Jonny, you sure your man hasn’t traded up?”

Jon gritted his teeth so hard that it could be heard and actually made both Ichabod and Mira shudder. “Not appreciated, Mira.”

She held up her hands apologetically. “Sor-ry. Touchy much? What’re you, his rival in love or something?”

Ichabod shook their head vigorously. “Nope. Not at all. Totally single and available.”

Mira smiled. “Oh yeah. You ARE cute.”

Jon cleared his throat. “I was just asking Ichabod if he knew where Damian was.”

“Oh, right. Where’s our gracious host flown off to?”

Ichabod glanced back at Jon curiously, and upon receiving a slight nod, understood that it was alright to discuss Damian’s other life with Mira around. “He’s uhh…preoccupied with a uhh…” Ichabod scanned through information on the contact lenses Damian had given them recently, “an inky situation.”

They both stared at Ichabod blankly.

“Seriously? You two are definitely not Gothamites.” They tapped the nearly invisible earpiece and whispered, “Status check. The big guns and…the bigger gun want to know.”

[What and who? Never mind. There’s been civilian casualties. I’ve already called an ambulance to my location, but they won’t be picking up anybody still breathing. I should have dealt with this sooner.]

Ichabod winced and looked to Jon. “It uhh…could be going better,” they reported. “But he didn’t request any help so—”

Jon’s scowl deepened, no doubt due to what he’d picked up with his super hearing. “Tell me where he is.”

[Damnit. Send the Batwing for quick evac. I’ve got a live one. Fuck, she’d better be alive.]

Jon looked ready to strangle the information out of Ichabod—who was busily using the contacts to lock the Batwing on Damian’s coordinates—but a loud tingling noise grabbed the attention of the entire ballroom as Mr. Powers stood on the runway set up in the room. “Not this guy,” Jon whispered.

“I’m sure we’re all quite enjoying the fruits of Mr. Wayne’s labors, but I feel it would set my mind at ease if those of us who had come here to discuss business could locate the man of the hour before we get this show on the road. So please, Mr. Wayne, come and greet your adoring public!”

“Geez, he’s transparent,” Mira commented. “Want me to knock him off the stage?”

“Assaulting a public figure is NOT what the Justice League does,” Jon growled.

“What does that make Lex Luthor then?”

Ichabod went into a nervous sweat. “C-crap. Uhh, I have a protocol for this…shoot. D-Droid’s charging. I knew I should have plugged him in yesterday…” They tapped their foot and straightened their jacket. “Dingy, uhh, code black-tie. Powers is trying to talk to you.”

[I’m a little busy. Use the droid.]

“About that…”

[I can’t help you right now. Distract them or some—KZZT!]

Ichabod winced and pulled the earpiece out quickly. “Oookay, that’s probably nothing. Oh! DNA, you still hanging around? Any chance you could lend a hand or four?”

“Who are you talking to?” Jon asked.

Just then, Damian Wayne stepped up onto the runway, that typical smug, businesslike smile pasted almost rigidly on his face. “Thank you, Mr. Powers, but please, Mr. Wayne was my father. Just call me Damian. And I’m sorry if I haven’t been as available as you may have hoped, but tonight isn’t a night for business, it’s a night for charity.”

Ichabod scoffed and elbowed Jon in the ribs (lightly enough so as not to accidentally bruise themself in the process), “Told you I had this under control.”

Jon didn’t dare take his eyes off of the runway, but he latched onto Ichabod’s arm, making sure that the scoundrel wouldn’t be able to run off on him. “You and me need to talk.”

“You and I, actually. Come on. Isn’t your mom a writer?”

Mira couldn’t help but smirk. “Damn, cute and bold. You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?”

“Why don’t you stick around after the crowds have dispersed and I’ll show you a few more surpri—”

Jon hoisted Ichabod off the ground and zipped out of the crowd with them faster than the eye could see, taking him to an isolated bedroom in the manor. “Coordinates now.”

Ichabod shook their head slightly, trying to get over the abrupt nausea that came with super-speed travel. “Look, I can’t communicate with him right now and our link went down which means his suit’s taken some damage—nothing new when it comes to Inque. But the Batwing’s already on its way back here, which means he’s on his way here too. Just be prepared to deal with a dude who’s probably taken some ink into his lungs.”

“What?”

“Ah, they’re landing now and…um…that’s…different.” Ichabod isolated the feed for the landing pad in the cave fidgeted uncomfortably. “So…we should get there right away, right?”

Jon rolled his eyes and zipped them to the cave so fast that Ichabod dropped to their hands and knees upon the abrupt stop and fought against the bile rising in their throat.

Jon was immediately preoccupied with the person who jumped out of the Batwing’s cockpit. “Who the hell are you?”

The young man who had jumped out didn’t pay Jon the time of day. He just climbed around to the back of the jet, trying to get it open. “This thing always looked way more intuitive from afar…”

“Jon? Helloooo? You guys ditched me up there.” Mira crept in from one of the many a hidden entrance, glass of champagne still in hand. “Whoever that shapeshifter is, they’re stiff as a brick up there…which actually kinda works; Damian’s pretty awkward for a human after all.” She read the tension of the room quickly. “Did I miss something?”

“Okay, really wasn’t expecting a whole entourage. Could you guys be a little more helpful?” the stranger demanded. “Batman’s hurt!”

That lit a fire under everyone.

Jon forced the back of the Batwing open—something Ichabod just knew Damian would be pissed about later—and inside the passenger compartment lay not just an unconscious Batman, but a young woman dressed like a clown as well.

“Lulu!” Mira exclaimed, floating over and hoisting the girl into her arms with ease. “Oh sweet fires of Apokolips, what happened?”

Jon hoisted Damian out and, without a moment’s hesitation, got his cowl off. Ichabod yelped and moved to block the stranger’s eyes. “Guys, we’re really not handling this situation well.”

“You’re the one with medical experience! What’s wrong with them?” Jon snapped.

Ichabod huffed. “Get them to the med bay. Keep them propped upright. There’s probably some ink in their systems. Too much of the stuff can be poisonous.”

They both flew over to the med bay and Ichabod sighed. “Supers…”

“That’s Superman? And isn’t that Ms. Miracle?”

“I’m not at liberty to give away that—hold up. Who the hell are you?”

“I’m the guy who saved Batman. Who are you?”

“Ick!” Jon shouted impatiently.

Ichabod groaned. “I’m the guy who still has to save Batman. Look, thanks for your help, but now we’re going to need you to stick around. I uhh, don’t know the protocol for this sort of situation.”

“Don’t mind me.” The guy was looking around in wonder, which made Ichabod a little nervous. “I’m in no rush.”

“Yeah…uh, just…don’t touch anything.” Ichabod hurried over to the med bay and got to work. Jon nearly cried when he had to cut into Damian to drain the black fluids that had accumulated. All the while Mira stayed by the girl’s side, reassuring them that she was breathing and that Damian looked like he needed more immediate attention. When Ichabod finally finished working on Damian, they filled in the worried heroes a little. “Ding-Bat had some pretty nasty bruising and a few cracked ribs on top of the ink in his system and it looks like his body went into shock, so it’s safe to say Inque very nearly drowned him earlier, which shouldn’t be possible the way that his cowl is set up, but it looks like he took some damage that’s not from Inque’s MO. Trouble is, I didn’t pick up on anyone else through the monitors in the area or Batman’s live feed—at least before it cut out.”

“It was Jokerz.” Everyone turned to see the stranger waiting in the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest. In the light of the med bay they could see some blood staining his leather jacket. “Only…these weren’t the usual bozos. I mean, anybody who can throw a punch can handle the usual Jokerz. These guys were way worse. All hyped up on slappers and yelling about the Cult of the Clown or something. As if the streets aren’t bad enough. They’ve been peddling patches to schools too. I was uhh, I happened to be looking into the matter when I saw Batman trying to rescue the clown chick. Figured she was innocent, though I can’t imagine why anyone would dress like the Jokerz and still try kicking their asses.”

“Penance,” Mira confirmed as she gently combed her fingers through Lucy’s disheveled hair. “She figures if she’s mistaken for one of them, it’s okay.”

“Whatever the reason, it was stupid. She got drugged, then that black…thing…it was throwing her around like a ragdoll.”

“Wait, drugged?” Ichabod rushed over to Lucy with the tools needed to draw blood only seconds before she began seizing. “Oh crap.”

“What’s happening?” Mira asked in a panic. “What’s wrong with her?”

“Keep her head up. Don’t let her choke.” Ichabod helped her to ride out the seizure before taking blood for testing. “Keep an eye on her. This could take me a bit.”

Jon sighed and finally let go of Damian’s hand to address the elephant in the room. “You. Who are you?”

The stranger rubbed the back of his neck. “Uhh, I don’t know that it really matters. Just a worried passerby.”

“You’re a worried passerby who managed to rescue two heroes and make it out unscathed,” Mira said gruffly. “Start talking.”

“The girl’s a hero too? Schway. The clown thing though…I feel like that kind of gives off the wrong message in Neo-Gotham. Know what I mean?”

“I said talk!” Mira shouted.

The guy put his hands up, as if they’d be any help against the granddaughter of both the Highfather and Darkseid. “Right. Sorry. Terry. My name’s Terry McGinnis. Look, I’m just a guy. Honest. I couldn’t just abandon Batman to get slagged, so I did what I could to help. He showed me how to get his ship-thing to work just enough to lock onto some location and have it auto-pilot us here. That’s the whole story.”

Lucy’s seizing stopped and Mira’s panic kicked into overdrive. Ichabod was already working quickly, drawing blood and keeping track of her heart rate. After getting an IV hooked up to her, they got right to work, testing her blood. Mira no longer seemed bothered by Terry’s presence and Ichabod was otherwise preoccupied, leaving it to Jon to determine what to do with the helpful bystander.

“You…said you just happened to be there?”

Terry looked apprehensive. “I mean, I had my own reasons for checking the place out. I didn’t really anticipate the whole party of Jokerz dregs.”

“Can you tell me what knocked Batman out?”

“Uh, yeah. Sure. Couple of slapped-out Jokerz jumped him with these electric charged weapons. Looked like it shorted out his suit, then they started slagging him.”

“Slagging?”

“Yeah. You know, kicking his ass? Beating him up? Whatever you geezers call it these days.”

Jon sighed. “I don’t have time to decode your slang, kid. I just…I’m trying to understand why you’re not hurt.”

Terry nodded slightly. “I…I should be. Actually, that girl got up like she rose from the dead and nailed the last of the Jokerz. It was totally ripped until she picked up a hammer and embedded it in a guy’s skull.”

Jon shuddered and looked to Mira. “She’s still too unstable to just leave running around.”

“She saved the kid. That’s what matters here,” Mira grunted. “I’m not advocating for her membership any more than you are for his,” she spat, nodding towards Damian.

“Y-you know why he’s not—”

“Hey, hate to interrupt the love-fest going on here, but if I’m gone much longer my mom’s going to flip.”

Jon nodded and looked to Ichabod. “We should get him home.”

Ichabod raised his shoulders. “Sorry, Stuporman. I’m not exactly in on the protocol for this sort of situation.”

“Well we can’t just keep him here!”

“What’re you mad at me for? He saved your boyf—”

“Shut up, Ichabod. Ugh. Kid, you’ve got to give us a minute or two. This really isn’t our area of expertise.”

Terry scoffed. “Good to know the heroes of today are prepared for every situation. And what kind of name is ‘Ichabod’?”

“It’s a character in—no, never mind. So much for fucking code names.”

“You were using nicknames first.”

“Which still isn’t your name, jerk.”

“I swear, if you weren’t—”

“Ah hem!”

Jon nearly jumped out of his skin upon hearing Damian clear his throat. He was sitting upright on his cot looking minorly inconvenienced rather than having just been through simple surgery after rather significant injuries.

“Can’t even recover in peace with you two bickering over my head,” Damian mumbled before looking to Terry. “McGinnis, thank you. Your assistance proved indispensable in that situation. Sleeper, without your medical knowledge I don’t think Pennywise would have made it through.”

“Don’t worry about the new code name, Dingbat. Boy-Toy already dropped my actual name.”

“You’re such a pain in the—wait, what kind of name is Sleeper?”

“Honestly, you two should never be left in a room together.” Damian moved to stand up and Jon had Damian’s arm up around his shoulders before he finished his first stumble. “I didn’t ask for assistance.”

“Just shut up and let me help you.”

“McGinnis, Superman here will see you home. Know that if you speak of what you saw tonight, I will proceed to use my substantial fortune to silence you however I deem necessary.”

“Yeah, whatever. Like anybody’d believe me anyways.” Terry dropped his head for a moment and added, “The Jokerz that got away…what’s the plan for them?”

“They’ll be identified and I’ll work towards their apprehension. They won’t remain a threat for long,” Damian declared with absolute confidence.

“Right…Okay…No more killing, right?”

Damian sighed. “Pennywise’s reaction was extreme. I don’t condone her actions.”

“Well, it’s not like I don’t get it, but…never mind. I’d better get out of here.”

Damian shrugged Jon off and straightened up in spite of the of pain hinted by his pale pallor. Jon obliged and was gone with Terry in the blink of an eye.

“Ick, do you have the results of her blood test yet?” Damian asked, continuing to move about.

“You sure you’re feeling okay? I gave you enough painkillers to knock out a horse,” Ichabod noted.

“I have a high tolerance. Stay on track please.”

“Oh. It’s still running but—”

PING!

“—there it goes.” Ichabod scrolled through the information on the projection, skimming it for anything of note. “Okay uhh, it looks like she’s got Joker blood. Authentic stuff too. That can be pretty toxic so I’m thinking—”

“That’s natural,” Mira said quickly.

“No, Joker’s blood isn’t natural. The original Clown Prince manufactured a special version of his own Joker Toxin that was highly infectious and spread through his own blood. It’s said some of the Jokerz have found a hidden cache of his blood. It’s a hard drug to come by but not completely unheard of.”

“No, I mean it’s natural for her. She’s his daughter,” Mira explained.

Ichabod blinked a few times in stunned silence. “The Joker had a kid?”

“It’s a long story. But that’s not what’s affecting her. She’s always affected by it, after all.”

Ichabod nodded and scrolled further. “You learn a new thing every day…Here’s something unusual; looks like she’s got traces of Venom in her system…and…uh…I thought it was out of production since…”

“What was that?”

Ichabod scratched their head. “My father’s drug. There’s a significant amount of the Fear Toxin in her system. It seems she’s allergic to one of the ingredients. That’s why the extreme reaction. Mix that with everything else and it’s a miracle she’s not in toxic shock…or…actually that might be what’s happening to her…”

Damian finally sat down only to stare at Ichabod drowsily. “The charity…Dare I even ask how that went.”

“Went?” Ichabod drained of color. “Oh. Right. Um…I’m just going to…I mean…Don’t mind me.”

They dismissed themselves, straightened their outfit, and hurried upstairs to find that the gala had turned into something more like a rave with DNA-Damian on the platform, dancing it up with both male and female models alike. “Ohhh, I’m in trouble.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Weird having Terry around when there's an active Batman, am I right? Kinda makes you wonder what role he plays in a future where he doesn't become Bruce's assistant-of-sorts. ;]
> 
> Also! Before I forget! Credit for Ichabod's outfit goes entirely to QueenOfThePirates! I can't guarantee anything, but there's a small chance that in the near future, there might be some art featuring Icky in the aforementioned outfit! No promises. But I'm seeing what I can do to make Icky feel more like a concrete character since they've gained popularity. That being said, if anyone were to want to throw their hand in and try drawing Icky on their own, I'd be MORE than thrilled to see how everybody sees them.


	8. Double Trouble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ichabod learns about Lucy and adjusts to the additional guests in the mansion. Jon and Damian face an odd situation that leads to a night of intimacy, and Bruce has a lucid day that leads to a lot of chaos.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay! I’m going to preface this chapter with a LOT OF THINGS!
> 
> 1st: I’m sorry this took so long. It occurred to me that I hadn’t done any sexy scenes in a beat and my dumbass thought it would be a great idea to try to one up myself by…well no spoilers, but yeah. This was more difficult to write than I’d anticipated, not because it wasn’t hot, but because I needed to keep it within reason for our boys and it’s difficult to explain how challenging that was, but it really was!
> 
> 2nd: This is the big one! I’m giving this spoiler ‘cuz, at least for me, this is something I feel a personal investment in: IN THIS CHAPTER CLARK FINDS OUT THE TRUTH. Many of you might be excited or curious with regards to this revelation. Know that I am bisexual and not out to my own parents (I’m also a grown ass woman, so yeah. It affects all ages, folks). I stand by my belief that Superman in comics (at least as he’s written now) would be fully supportive of his son no matter his sexuality. But I also found Superman in the Batman Beyond series to be a bit of an ass. That being said, his reaction here is pretty negative (don’t crucify me!). It addresses the fears of a parent who has suddenly discovered that the friend they’ve let their child be so close with was more than a friend. And maybe that shouldn’t matter now that they’re both consenting adults, but Jon and Damian met when they were 10 and 13. So YES! CLARK OVERREACTS! For sake of drama, there’s more to the situation as it rolls out. But please be aware that there will be a NEGATIVE reaction to basically Jon coming out to his father.
> 
> 3rd: This was a, uh, lot for a chapter that I had originally intended to have a lot more plot to it (sexy time throws me off apparently). So to make up for that, I'm already a good chunk into the next chapter. I'll do what I can to get that up soon. Writer's block is real. It's an annoying excuse to use, but c'est la vie. Just know that I haven't abandoned this!
> 
> Lastly: comments are always welcome, but please go easy on me with the negative reactions to Clark! I know he's a monster here, but it's not about to end like this! Do what you need, but know that I'm not trying to call anybody out!
> 
> Otherwise, here's hoping you enjoy the latest installment of DamiJon sexy time!

“‘Damian Wayne; a Modern Day Gatsby. Throughout the years there have been many mysteries surrounding Bruce Wayne’s only blood heir: Damian Wayne. While his father was a notorious playboy in his prime, his son had taken a more private approach to life upon inheriting his father’s company, only making public appearances as needed. Rumors swirled about the exotic young Wayne throughout the years, but it wasn’t until last week’s charity event that his true nature finally came to light.’”

“Please, Ick. I’m irritated enough as it is.”

Ichabod scrolled further through the Gotham Gazette Online article, smirking as they skimmed on. “Ooh, it looks like questions of Damian Wayne’s sexual preference have been answered after eye-witnesses found him dancing with both men and women. Look at this, the newspaper thinks your bi.”

“I am bisexual. But that’s not something I ever needed to be public knowledge.”

“Wait, you are? How come Super-Snot always gets his panties in a bunch whenever I—who I don’t think he’s accepted as NOT being male—or some random guy looks at you, but then people like the hot, walking miracle don’t make him bat an eye?”

“He thinks I’m just homosexual…and in your case I think you just make him nervous,” Damian explained. “Now please stop reading that. I appreciate your quick thinking with that assist, but I do not like knowing that one of Todd’s was tailing you without my knowledge…and I will not stand for owing the Red Hoods a favor.”

Ichabod minimized the article and resumed their game of chess against the Bat Computer (they hadn’t won a single game yet). “Look on the bright side. After all that’s happened, you’ve got a little team looking into the Jokerz problem. It’s kind of nice having some backup.”

“It’s not nice. It’s actually rather annoying that both Free and Jon have elected to help with this without my express permission. Two of the most public figures in the Justice League should not be wasting their time with petty gang problems Batman’s city. And I should especially not be worried about Free taking drastic measures in order to avenge her friend, who’s still in recovery here.”

Ichabod sighed dreamily. “Not gonna lie, it was kind of a letdown to know that Mira-cle has a girlfriend already.”

“Free isn’t dating…wait, you don’t mean Quinzel?”

“You know some other girl she’s all over like that? What I wouldn’t give to have those big strong hands taking care of me.”

“Quinzel is NOT…I mean…I had never considered…”

“So, she knows about you and your boy toy, but you didn’t realize she was in a relationship with your clown friend? Now that’s just sad,” Ichabod pointed out just before the computer check-mated them once again. “Shoot.” They swapped the screen over to a medical journal they were supposed to have read for class by morning. “What’s Sleeping Blondie’s deal anyways?”

Damian scoffed, pulled up a file, and slung it around to Ichabod’s screen.

“‘Lucy Quinzel, daughter of Harleen Quinzel and’…oh.”

“She’s not a criminal,” Damian bobbed his head for a moment before adding, “exactly. Her status as a vigilante often puts her at odds with the law, but she follows the same code as the Bat. I have allowed her to continue as it has allowed her some peace of mind to make up for the crimes that her parents committed.”

“So…she’s like me.”

“Yes and no. She was raised by her aunt because her mother had enough sense to recognize that she and the Joker would not be good parents. She went most of her life without even being aware of her connection to the famous clowns.”

“Whoa, it says here she was a prospect for the United States Olympic Gymnastics team?” Ichabod was fascinated with her file. “Why only a prospect?”

“It was due to a general health exam for the Olympic team that her heritage became known. Upon learning that she was the daughter of the mass-murdering psychopath that was the Joker, she was disqualified and quickly blacklisted.”

Ichabod winced. “That seems a little harsh. It’s not like she was involved in any of his crimes.”

“Didn’t matter to anyone. She was guilty by association. Nothing more than the sick fuck’s lovechild. It wound up ruining her life.”

“That…that’s awful.”

“She’s made due, I suppose. Never complained about her position, at least. And to make up for her parents’ mistakes, she decided to use her Olympic-worthy athleticism to deal with crime as Pennywise. Being a clown never made much sense to me, but she has always seemed happy with it.”

“Plus, Pennywise is an awesome clown,” Ichabod noted. “I love that book.”

Damian nodded in silent agreement. “Just…be aware that she is…different.”

Ichabod scoffed. “Hey, us villain family second-gen’s gotta stick together. We’re the weirdest of the bunch, right? I mean…you kinda are too…We should start a support group.”

“Yes, I mean, like you and…me, she is somewhat haunted by the legacy of her parents. But like you said, Joker’s blood is a drug in itself. Much like you are immune to your father’s drug and naturally immune to fear as well, having his blood running through her veins naturally has brought about some…certain aspects in her.”

“Well, her face paint came off pretty easily, so at least she doesn’t share her parents’ ridiculously pale complexion.”

“Nah, but I do get a bit of the insanity.”

The whispered warning was given with every intention of scaring Ichabod, but they just spun in their seat to find themself face to face with the girl who had been unconscious in the med bay for the last few days. “Well, good morning.”

Lucy grimaced, moving away from Ichabod and stretching out. “Lame! Usually I have people pissing their pants when I do that kinda thing!”

“Let me formally introduce myself then.” Ichabod wheeled over to her and held out a hand. “Ichabod Crane. And yes, I am related to THAT Crane. And no, I do NOT associate with him or enjoy sharing his DNA in any way.”

Lucy put a hand on her hip and leaned, disinclined to shake Ichabod’s hand. “Yeah, I’m not buying it. You look way too put together to be related to the Scarecrow.”

“Lucy has a bit of duality to her,” Damian tried to explain, already worried about the two of them clashing in his sanctuary. “And Lucy, Ick’s got less to do with their father than you do. In fact, they’re the reason you’re still breathing, so show a little gratitude.”

“Meh.” She still didn’t shake Ichabod’s hand. “Lucy Quinzel. Thanks for not letting me die, I s’pose. But just ‘cuz you saved me doesn’t mean I owe you anything, capiche?”

Ichabod wheeled back over to the computer. “Whatever.”

The Batmobile pulled in and Jon and Mira jumped out. Jon had been wearing an older Batsuit to keep up the illusion of Batman watching over the city rather than Superman, and Ichabod had taken to teasing him relentlessly about it. As he came over to greet Damian, who barely spared him a passive grunt, Ichabod took another swing at it.

“How’d the patrol go tonight, Batman? Looking sharp, as always. Honestly, you should just forget about that Super-stooge you’re so obsessed with now that your party-boy status is out. I’ll bet those supermodels would be dying to hook up with you.”

Jon glared daggers into Ichabod, but Damian smiling out of the corner of his eye kept him from actually launching a verbal assault (or physical…).

“Mimiiiiii!”

Ichabod’s eyes widened as Lucy’s tough exterior melted into that of a giddy child upon seeing Mira. She ran right for the giantess, arms extended for an embrace, and Mira put her hand on Lucy’s forehead, keeping her at an arm’s distance.

“You! You gave me a heart attack! Do you have any IDEA how worried I was?”

Lucy pulled her arms in close and looked up at Mira like a kicked puppy. “But Mimiiii! I went to you first! I tried! Don’t be mad!”

Ichabod blinked a few times and wheeled over to Damian to whisper, “What the hell happened?”

“I told you she had a dual nature.”

“She’s a whole different person!”

Mira finally released Lucy’s head, allowing the hug to happen, though she showed no signs of reciprocating the motion. “You weren’t exactly specific, my little Lucky Penny. And you totally ruined my dress. Do you have any idea how expensive that was?”

Lucy let out a contented moan and mumbled against Mira’s abdomen, “Punish me, Mimi. I’ve been bad. I should be punished!”

Mira pushed Lucy away again at that. “Okay. That’s enough of that. How do you feel? You look better. Color’s returned to your face…” In spite of Mira’s blatant disdain for the way that Lucy acted around her, she still seemed genuinely concerned for her health. “Icky said you were allergic to something in the Fear Toxin and went into shock or something like that. Have you eaten anything? How long have you been up?”

In response, Lucy’s stomach growled loud enough to echo off the cave walls.

“Uhhh. I woke up about two minutes ago and was introduced to that little bundle of sunshine that is Ichlebud—”

“Ichabod.”

“That’s what I said. Anywho, no. I have definitely not eaten. So whaddaya say, hot stuff? Will ya let a lowly fan like me treat ya to a romantic dinner?”

Mira ignored Lucy’s advances completely, sidestepping her to check with Damian. “Do you have food here? We need to make sure she has something in her system, right?”

Ichabod finally got out of their wheelie chair. “Of course! Don’t even bother asking him. Dingy can barely make toast without burning it. I’ve got ingredients for soup. We should keep things simple for a day or so to make sure it settles in her stomach okay.”

Mira nodded. “Thank you, Icks. You’re the best.”

Ichabod blushed and led Mira back up into the mansion. Lucy stayed behind, mouth hanging agape as her lady-love followed a practical stranger.

“That’s it. I hate them.”

Jon smirked. “Join the club.”

“You two are impossible,” Damian breathed as he moved to join his roommate.

They all wound up in the second-floor kitchen where Ichabod busied themself at the stove, working on a soup that smelled heavenly.

“Mmm. Is there anything you can’t do, Icks?” Mira wondered.

“Careful,” Jon said quickly. “You never know when he’ll throw something…extra…into the pot.”

“They,” Mira corrected. “And what the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Damian shuddered. “Don’t ask. And Ick, for the love of all things holy, don’t add anything weird to the soup.”

“You guys just suck the fun out of everything,” Ichabod mumbled, stirring the pot.

“I refuse to eat anything that menace makes,” Lucy declared dramatically. “I’d rather drink poison!”

Mira ran her fingers through one of Lucy’s golden pigtails and whispered, “That’s too bad. I was hoping you’d poison-check the soup for me. I mean, if Ick’s putting weird things in it, who knows what sort of…unsavory things they might be planning.”

Lucy gasped and put herself between Mira and Ichabod. “How dare you even consider!”

Ichabod laughed as they added the finishing touch to the soup—oregano, based on the spice jar Jon watched them pluck from the cabinet—and began dishing out bowls. They put just one dish between Damian and Jon only to gasp. “Oh! Jojo! When did you get here? I could have sworn it was just Batman here earlier!”

Damian cleared his throat as Jon all but growled, and Ichabod laughed as they served up another bowl for Jon before serving the girls then getting a bowl for themself.

Everyone settled around the kitchen island, slurping at Ichabod’s homemade soup—though Lucy refused to let Mira have a spoonful until after she poison-checked it—and let out contented sighs as the warmth of it spread down their throats.

“So, now that we’re all cozy and all, I hate to bring it up, but what’s the plan?” Ichabod said, watching everyone enjoy their soup. “I mean, any progress tonight? And what about that McGinnis guy?”

Damian set his spoon in his bowl and nodded. “Yes. About McGinnis. I was able to find a tracker attached to your jet-bike, Lucy.”

Lucy sputtered, choking before saying, “Tracker? Wait. Who’re we talking about?”

“The young man you saved,” Damian clarified. “The one who tried to fight the Jokerz.”

Lucy nodded. “Oh yeah. Bruce Junior!”

That made everyone choke.

“The hell?” Damian said between coughs.

Lucy shrugged, completely unaware of why her statement would surprise anyone. “Didn’t you guys notice? The guy’s your old man’s spitting image! It’s kinda creepy.”

Ichabod scoffed. “Oh. Ooooh. That’s why he looked familiar!”

Damian shuddered. “Okay. I…hadn’t considered that…Damnit, now I won’t be able to unsee it…”

“Ah hem!” Lucy exclaimed. “Can we get back to how the guy bugged my bike?”

Damian shook the image away. “Right. Yes. Have you encountered McGinnis before that night?”

“Uhh, yeah, I guess. Earlier in the week I was taking care of a little gang of Jokerz when the guy showed up around my bike. I guess some asshole decided to nick one of the jets, but he offered a replacement and—ooooooh I hear it.”

Damian rolled his eyes. “Yeah. So, he tracked you with that replacement jet and—”

Jon grabbed Damian’s arm tightly.

“Um…And he—ow.” Damian tried to pull away, but Jon’s grip was unrelenting. “J-Jon, calm yourself!”

Jon suddenly fell off of his stool, making Damian leap out of his seat. “Jon! Jon?” He quickly looked at Ichabod, who was practicing their innocent whistling. “Damnit, Icky!”

“It was supposed to be harmless!...I think…”

“You think?”

“Yeah! You’ve got that whole cabinet of ‘syntho-nite’ down in the lab. I grabbed the one that you had labeled ‘double trouble’. It sounded like fun. I just threw it in with a little of my, uh…you know…I didn’t think he’d—”

And just like that, Jon split into two—one version of himself glowing with a soft blue light and the other a soft red.

Damian stiffened and stared at Ichabod. “You…combined that with…which drug?”

Ichabod smiled and shrugged. “Just the one that draws out good feelings.”

Red-Jon recovered first, flying right at Ichabod threateningly. Mira got in the way, holding him back. “I…I thought they were joking about the ‘extra something,’” she joked. “You really are a menace, aren’t you?”

“I only put it in his bowl,” they confessed.

Blue-Jon caught his counterpart’s arm and pulled him away from Mira with ease. “Hey! Take it easy! We’re all friends here!” Blue-Jon winked at Ichabod, making them just a little flustered in spite of themself.

Damian groaned loudly. “This was NOT the time for your goddamned experiments, Ick!”

Red-Jon stopped struggling against his counterpart and scoffed. “Understatement of the century. Just let me rip them in half, D. I’ll make it quick.”

Ichabod straightened up and drew a notebook out of a kitchen drawer (much to Damian’s annoyance). “Red synthetic Kryptonite splits Kryptonian subject. Quite possible that, through this split, opposing hemispheres of the brain may have been affected by the drug.”

Mira chuckled uncomfortably, trying to understand what was happening. “This is…normal here?”

Damian shook his head. “I am SO sorry. I will diffuse the situation. Quinzel, Free, you are both welcome to stay here, of course, while Quinzel is in recovery. Please, just pick an unoccupied room. I will…I will discuss the issue of McGinnis further in the…in the…” Blue-Jon kept a hand on his red counterpart but used his other hand to slip up under Damian’s shirt, sliding along his chest. Damian cleared his throat loudly in an attempt to recover his dignity. “We will deal with the McGinnis issue to-MORROW!” He covered his mouth, not having meant to yelp, but Blue had pinched his nipple hard.

Ichabod tried to slip a paper with various experiment-based questions over to Damian, but he ignored it in favor of leading the two supers away. “Aww. That could have been valuable research material.”

Lucy laughed and leaned against her elbows. “You’re tricky, Ickymon.”

“Ichabod,” Mira corrected.

“Po-tay-toe, po-tah-toe. So tell me, oh mischievous one. Did you slip something into our bowls too? Are we going to start, oh, I don’t know, seeking body heat or something?”

Ichabod shook their head. “N-no! I’d never dream of tainting something Ms. Miracle consumes!”

Mira laughed and patted Ichabod on the shoulder, ignoring Lucy’s obvious pout.

***

“I don’t even know why you’re here. He’s MINE, you blue fruit-loop.”

“Oh, quit whining. Just look at him! Isn’t he beautiful? Think of how pretty he’ll be when I coax a few happy sounds out of him.”

“Like I’d ever let your disgusting hands touch him!”

“Okay. Do I get a say in this?” Damian questioned as he had turned into a human rope in the awful game of tug-of-war that was the center of the split Jons’ attention.

“Of course you do!”

“Like hell you do!”

Damian scowled, unappreciative of their opposing answers.

“Look, can I just…Red and Blue. Can I refer to you by your colors?”

“Darling, you can call me whatever you want.”

“No way! You don’t get a say in this, bitch! The only sounds I want to hear from you are the screams as you beg for the mercy of release!”

Damian shuddered at the extreme response from Red. “Um…Okay…Look, I’m still in recovery. You know this. I mean…you have to, right? You’re Jon. Beloved.”

“I’m more Jon than you’ll know what to do with,” Red threatened, taking Damian’s chin in his hand.

“Now now, let’s get him someplace comfortable first, okay?” Blue suggested, hoisting Damian into his arms and carrying him bridal style into a nearby bedroom.

Upon being thrown onto the bed, Damian went into a panic. “Nope. Absolutely not! You see those dressers?” He pointed at the dressers overflowing with unfolded clothes against the far wall. “This room is occupied! This is Ichabod’s room! We are NOT doing anything in—”

Red pressed a hand over Damian’s mouth, forcing him to lay flat against the unmade bed. “You think you have a say in this, D?”

Blue pushed Red off, caressing Damian’s face. “Oh, he doesn’t mean that. He’s just eager. I can’t blame him. You look so good right now. So beautiful.”

“Well we can do this somewhere else, surely!” Damian protested, trying to get out from under the two-sided assault. “I do NOT want them walking in on—”

Red tore Damian’s shirt off like it was paper, ripping the breath right out of his lungs. He barely had the sense to use his contacts to try to send a message to Ichabod. Just a simple warning not to return to their room for a few—

“Oh, that won’t do.” Red’s eyes began to glow. “Take them out,” he demanded. “Take them out, or we’ll test just how surgically I can use heat vision when I’m already seeing red.”

Damian shuddered at the thought but clung to the knowledge that Jon wouldn’t really hurt him. “Please. Just…not here.”

“This isn’t up for discussion,” Red growled. Damian sucked in a sharp cry as a small burn formed on his cheek.

“Hey! No no no.” Blue snuggled up next to Damian on the bed, gently strokes his fingers through Damian’s short hair, and kissed the burn on his cheek with the slightest hint of freeze breath to sooth the agitated flesh. “He’s just being mean. I don’t want him to hurt you. I won’t let him. But please, please be good for us. It’s okay.” He gently helped Damian to sit upright. “You know it’s okay. He may be mean. But he’s me. And I love you.”

Damian hated his stupid position. Jon’s sweet side on his left, Jon’s unabashed rage on his right, and both hopelessly determined to have their way with him. “If Ichabod comes in here—” he took out his contacts and placed them in Blue’s hand (hopeful that he’d just set them aside where Red looked like he’d crush them) “—I’ll be down a boyfriend AND a roommate.”

Red pressed a hand to Damian’s chest and made him lay back slowly on the bed. “Is that a threat?” he asked with a grin before flipping Damian onto his stomach.

“Honestly, you’re too rough with him,” Blue whined, tracing his hand along Damian’s shoulder blades gently.

“I think we should wreck him,” Red suggested.

“What? No, I want him to be so happy that he can’t even think straight,” Blue argued.

“Same fucking difference, right? Let’s fuck him until he can’t see straight.”

“‘Fuck’ is such a harsh word. Can’t we just make him feel good?”

“Please,” Damian said in a desperate breath. “This isn’t how I—”

But Red leaned over him, his hand sliding down into Damian’s pants until it gripped what it was looking for. “I don’t give two shits about what you want. I’m not here for you.”

Damian felt a wave of genuine panic. If this really was Ichabod’s drug that had doubled as an aphrodisiac in the past, it was supposed to stimulate joy. But with Jon split in two by the synthetic red kryptonite, it was becoming clear that only one half was drunk on joy. The other seemed hostile, and a hostile super was dangerous. “J-Jon, please. Be reasonable.”

Blue ran his fingers through Damian’s hair again before kissing his neck. Damian writhed at the touch. His legs stiffened, straining to get the two Jons away from him, which seemed to annoy Red. “I’m getting pretty fucking tired of you pretending you’re not made for this.”

“I am in no way made for—”

Damian bit back a scream as Red proceeded to use his heat vision to burn through Damian’s pants. If he were to use just the slightest bit too much power, he’d burn right through to Damian’s legs. This was like performing surgery while drugged up.

And Blue wasn’t making it any easier to stay calm, nibbling love marks into Damian’s jawline.

When Red finished burning through both pant-legs, he pulled the pants free and Damian released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. His relief, however, was short-lived, as Red ran a hand over the boxer briefs that barely clung to him. “Just one more layer in my way.”

“Just tear them off,” Blue said in a whisper as his lips grazed Damian’s earlobe. “You’re scaring him.”

Red scoffed. “I’ll burn an ‘S’ into his skin if I feel like it. He’d look good that way, don’t you think? Permanently claimed. He’s ours, after all. Maybe he could use the reminder.”

Damian braced his hands under his chest, ready to try to make an escape, but Blue had a hand pressed between his shoulder blades, pinning him against the bed. “Try to relax. I won’t let him hurt you.”

Damian wanted to believe that, but the creeping heat around the crack of his ass made him want to scream. How could Jon do this to him? Was there really a part of Jon what WANTED to do this to him? This seemed like too much rage to be love.

After a minute that felt like it stretched into eternity, the ruined pair of boxers were removed and Damian was left completely exposed.

Blue kept a hand in Damian’s hair, massaging his scalp as Red crawled up onto the bed, forcing himself between Damian’s legs. Firm hands gripped Damian’s hips and the next thing he knew, he was pulled ass-up, and his cheeks were kneaded and spread apart.

“Tch. Tight. All because you’ve been too obstinate to let us give you what you deserve for so long.”

“F…fuck you,” Damian muttered, muffled by the sheets. He shakily pushed himself up with his hands only for Blue to slide onto the bed in front of Damian, keeping his knees together to give Damian a place to drop his head. “I don’t…I don’t want…”

Red grabbed a handful of Damian’s hair and pulled hard enough to force him to sit upright, his back pressing to the fabric of the shirt that had somehow doubled with Jon upon ingesting the synthetic kryptonite. He wrapped his free hand around Damian’s neck, not quite applying pressure, but just holding him in place. “Quit acting like you get a say in this. Right now, you’re just here to be used.”

Blue scooted himself closer, running a warm hand down Damian’s abdomen and using the other to brace Damian’s face. “That’s not true. You’re everything to me. You’re my sun. Without you, I’m nothing.”

Neither option sounded great to Damian. He didn’t want to take whatever twisted abuse Red was considering and he didn’t want to be as important to Blue as the very sun that gave him his Kryptonian strength. Maybe in being split, Jon became the two very extremes that made their relationship so difficult.

“I can’t…Beloved, this isn’t right.”

“Then let’s make it right.”

For a split second, the pressure of them against his skin was gone. It wasn’t even long enough for him to fall forward and get comfortable, though, as a blur of red and blue rearranged him as they saw fit until he was on his hands and knees, fingers grasping the edge of the bed, and something pressing into his ass. Damian sucked in a scream only to get a couple of fingers hooked into his mouth, forcing his neck to arch at an uncomfortable angle. He was looking up at Red, who was standing in front of him. Red-tinted skin fully exposed now suggested exactly what was coming.

“Be glad I’m letting him prepare you. If it were just me, I’d fuck you raw and revel in your screams. But he insisted on making it enjoyable for you.”

Damian’s jaw clenched shut as the intrusion from behind pressed in deeper, threatening to hit his prostate. Red just smiled, his impenetrable skin unaffected by Damian’s teeth as they ground on his fingers.

“You’re being so good,” Blue cooed from behind, slipping a second finger in. Damian tensed, realizing just how tight he really was. It HAD been a bit since they’d spent a night together. It didn’t really bother him. It wasn’t that he didn’t thoroughly enjoy what they’d done together the last few times—a fact he NEVER needed Ichabod to be aware of—but the intensity of it all was jarring. “I can use more lube. Just give the word.”

Damian hadn’t even realized Blue was using lube, which didn’t bode well. He tried to speak around Red’s fingers only to get them pressed just a little further into his mouth and down on his tongue. Damian moaned as a string of drool fell from his lips. The position he was forced into was humiliating. He knew what both Jons were planning and he wasn’t sure that he could handle that sort of indignity.

As if reading his mind, Red moved his fingers so that he was pinching Damian’s bottom lip and said in a rough whisper, “You’re going to take it all, and you’re going to look like an absolute mess.”

At that moment one of Blue’s scissored fingers scraped over a sensitive spot, drawing a sound out of Damian that he’d never admit to having made. Upon hearing it, Red closed his eyes and shuddered. “Tell me he’s ready,” he growled excitedly.

That’s when it hit Damian.

Red and Blue, as different as they were, they were both determined to make him feel this. Determined to show him a hell of a time, yes, but still concerned for him, even if Red refused to show it.

Because, even after everything, Jon would never REALLY hurt him without feeling a sense of guilt.

“Augh!”

Red pulled his fingers out of Damian’s mouth with a wince and Blue rubbed Damian’s ass soothingly. “Oh, baby, shhhh. It’s okay. I’m sorry. If it hurts, we’ll stop.”

“Speak for yourself,” Red mumbled, though he’d taken to stroking Damian’s face lovingly. “I’m going to mess you up.”

Jon was bad at dirty talk. Damian knew that…a little too well. Maybe Red was being too intense because he just wasn’t sure how else to do things. Damian had to believe he wouldn’t be as rough as he suggested.

“He’s loosened up,” Blue claimed, pulling his fingers out a little too quickly, making Damian gasp. “Oops! Sorry, love!” He stroked Damian’s ass cheek soothingly. “Are you ready?”

“Do you jerks even care?” Damian spat.

Blue held Damian’s biceps firmly and carefully pulled him back so that he was upright on his knees, back pressed flush to Blue’s chest. “Of course we care. We want you to feel amazing. We only ever want you to feel—”

Red settled onto the bed, flagpole flying high. “I’ll make SURE you feel me.”

“We have guests,” Damian protested. “I have work to do. I’m recovering! This is highly inappropriate!”

“I know, sweetheart. He’s just excited. We’re excited. We want you to be excited. I need this,” Blue nibbled at Damian’s earlobe and carefully lifted him up, positioning him over Red. “It’s okay to need this.” Blue eased him down slowly and Damian arched his back as he was filled. “There you go. Just like that.”

He was out of practice. Tight. Tense. But having his boyfriend under him and…behind him…taking him and soothing him…he hated to think that he enjoyed this. Hated to think that maybe, just maybe, he DID need this.

Red worked his hips, bouncing Damian at a punishing pace. All the while Blue carried the brunt of Damian’s weight and sucked loving kisses into his neck and shoulders. The pressure building was explosive. The heat between the three of them showed no signs of smothering. After Red and Damian finished, the Jons carefully shifted positions so that Blue could take his turn and Red was leaning on his elbows, propped up between Damian’s legs.

“I can’t…Beloved…”

Red squeezed Damian’s thigh a little too tightly, making it hurt but without doing any real damage. “Go ahead and cry. You look good that way.” He licked along Damian’s shaft, helping to restore him to full mast as he wrapped his lips around the head, then leaned forward, taking him down his throat.

Damian moaned as Blue set a much slower pace, making him feel every aching inch of his length as it slid in and out of Damian’s already sensitive hole. Every bob of Red’s head punched the air right out of Damian’s lungs. He reached back so that one arm was wrapped loosely around Blue’s neck and raked his nails through Red’s hair, letting him continue his pace but holding on for dear life.

Damian’s body reached its limit and his hips stuttered. Blue thrust in as deeply as he could and Red dipped down so that his nose was pressed to Damian’s pubis in time to take his climax down his throat. Damian whined as Blue finished inside of him, flooding his insides to the point that he leaked around his lover’s cock, spilling some of Red’s earlier climax.

Feeling absolutely boneless, Damian leaned back wholly against Blue. “Please…Please…the shower.”

Both Blue and Red smirked—the latter nearly failing to swallow his prize. He sat up and stole a kiss, forcing Damian to taste his own seed while Blue whispered, “Of course, love. The three of us. We’ll shower together.”

Damian whined, knowing full well that there would be more in the shower. “You…I thought you were the nice one,” he muttered when Red’s lips parted from his.

“Drug must be wearing off,” Red said in a low growl. “I mean, I’m supposed to be the angry one, but I’m so…you’re perfect…How can I stay angry with perfection?”

“And I just want to spoil you more,” Blue added, nuzzling the base of Damian’s neck. “Now come on. We’re going to get you a little dirty in there before we clean you up.”

***

Ichabod wandered through the manor with a mug of coffee in hand and Samson at their heels. Though it had been amusing that the Jons had opted for extra humiliation for Damian by taking out their sexual frustrations on him in Ichabod’s room, it had left them with the dilemma of finding somewhere else to sleep.

Not that the mansion was lacking in extra space or anything. In fact, there was a miraculous moment when Mira had actually offered to share a room with them that they very nearly took her up on. Unfortunately for their libido, it was plain to see that Lucy had staked her claim with Mira and, while the blond menace truly couldn’t do anything to scare them, they really didn’t want to deal with the possibilities of violent retaliation.

In order to accomplish some research in the morning before the inevitable lecture that they were bound to get for pushing boundaries again, Ichabod woke up at the crack of dawn. It was, in their opinion, the best time to wander through the mansion. Holo-windows allowed a little more authentic sunlight to warm the halls and, even with the extra company, the place felt somehow serene. One would never think of all the chaos that so frequently ensued within those walls. The quiet serenity was perfect for research. Nothing to distract them from their work. Not a care in the world beyond keeping the pets that came to keep them company.

“Good morning Ichabod.”

“Good morning sir.” Ichabod held their mug up to greet Bruce as they headed for the old clock.

They quickly backtracked, bug-eyed and staring. “S-s-s-sir!?”

Bruce was dressed comfortably in dark red, silk pajamas, holding a mug of coffee of his own, Ace trotting along leisurely at his side, and scrolling through a holo of the daily news. “Yes. And odd day, I’m sure. Thank you for making the morning coffee. I’m useless with the machine.”

Ichabod nodded vigorously. “Uh. Yeah. Totally. Right. Um…Are you? I mean…Oh hell…”

“It’s quite alright to be surprised. I much prefer my solitude. However, certain circumstances regarding the care of my city have come to my attention, so I called Clark to discuss. I don’t suppose you made breakfast? Bold to ask, but I really am a mess when it comes to the kitchen.”

Ichabod was sending out message after message via his contacts, hoping and praying that Damian would have the sense to put his on and check. “Uhh, I just…I mean, I made toast, but for Bats and Supes Seniors I can definitely make something a little nicer. M-might as well. Guests m-might be hungry and all.”

Bruce raised a curious eyebrow. “Guests?”

“O-oh, yeah. Uhh, Ms. Miracle and uhh, Pennywise. Er, Mira and Lucy…and uhh…I mean…” They were at a total loss. It wasn’t that long ago that Clark had first dropped in and Ichabod had been made aware of Jon’s and Damian’s unusual relationship situation. What they didn’t know was whether or not Bruce was aware…or if he was ever aware, for that matter. Everything with regards to Bruce was taboo as far as Ichabod had been concerned. They’d appreciated the old man’s reflexes and wit when the Talon had attacked, but it wasn’t like the guy ventured out of his room much…at all…

“I see. That would explain Miracle’s recent activity around Gotham. And it’s…it’s odd to know that Miss Quinzel is somehow involved, but I suppose that is fitting. And it would definitely explain Superman’s involvement. Shall we go to the kitchen together?”

Ichabod sent another message to Damian and shrugged. “Sure! Absolutely! Not every day I get to show off my skills in the kitchen to living legends.”

They reached the second-floor kitchen just in time to see Lucy nodding off in front of the coffee pot. “Oh! Uhh, Lulu, I believe you’ve met Mr. Wayne,” Ichabod said quickly.

Lucy yawned, scratching her exposed rear—of course she was wearing just a large shirt and pink underwear. Normally it wouldn’t bother Ichabod, but it wasn’t exactly standard dress for being in the presence of the original Batman. She stared at Bruce tiredly and nodded. “Muhhuh.” There was a drawn-out moment of silence before her eyes widened dramatically and she dropped her mug, letting it shatter on the floor.

“HAWAAAAH!?”

Bruce cleared his throat, making sure not to look at her too hard. “It is, erm, good to see you’re in good health.”

“ODEARLORDIHADTHISNIGHTMAREONCEANDNOWIT’SREALANDIDON’TKNOWWHEREILEFTMYPANTSAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!” She dashed out of the kitchen in a mad panic, leaving Ichabod and Bruce in shock.

“I, uh…I’ll clean that up I guess,” Ichabod mumbled.

***

Damian awoke feeling thoroughly spent, but pleasantly warm. Blue was still sleeping in front of him, his head tucked snuggly under Damian’s chin, and Red was pressed flush to his back. Were it not for the very real marathon that the night had been, he might consider splitting his beloved more often.

He shook the thought from his mind, tapping on Blue’s head in order to get him to move enough for Damian to shrug out from under Red’s arm. He looked around, recalling the things they had done in his roommate’s room, and shuddered. “No. Not again. Definitely can’t do that again.” He desperately needed a shower and a shave, but Red was drowsily grabbing at him, already sporting some morning wood.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“The night is over. You’ve had your fun. I have responsibilities. Or perhaps you would prefer to deliver Father’s medications this morning?”

Red withered slightly but let Damian go. Blue gave Damian enough space to sit up but brushed his fingers gently along his lover’s abdomen playfully. “Couldn’t he wait just an hour? A little morning fun wouldn’t be the worst thing in the—”

Both Red and Blue sat up at attention.

“Uh, Beloved?” Damian didn’t love when Jon heard something in the manor that he didn’t know about. He scrambled over to where his contacts had been left and cursed upon seeing that they needed to be cleaned. “What’s happening?”

“Lucy dropped her coffee mug,” Blue noted, explaining what had caught their attention. “But…that can’t be right.”

“What can’t be right?” Damian got out of the bed and cursed upon realizing that he’d have to borrow Ichabod’s clothes in order to cover up. “Did you HAVE to rip my clothes again? You’re incorrigible.”

“Bruce is in the kitchen,” Red confirmed.

Damian stared at him in utter shock. “You’re joking.”

Blue turned his head so that he was facing the window. “Nononononono.”

Damian cursed as he struggled to fit into a pair of drawstring sweatpants that were still obviously too small for him. “Beloved, I don’t understand!”

Red dashed out of the room and back within seconds with clothes for Damian and dressed to the nines, with an outfit for Blue as well. “This is bad. This is really bad.”

“He’s coming,” Blue muttered, throwing on the three-piece suit Red had grabbed for him before hastily helping Damian out of the ill-fitting pants and into an overly formal outfit as well. “D, he’s coming. What do we do?”

There was only one person who could reduce Jon to this. Damian’s heart sank. “Calm down. It’s already going to be difficult enough to explain why you’re split. And if he’s already on his way, we don’t have time to see if Ichabod can fuse you back together. Gods, I’d have thought the synthetic Kryptonite would have worn off by now…Just remain calm. You both need to breathe.”

“Why is he coming? Why is Bruce out of his room? Dami, this is horrible!” Blue whined.

Damian rolled his eyes. “You’re taking this out of proportion.”

“If that Scarecrow-spawn did this, I swear I’ll—”

“That’s enough. You’re a grown man. For Pete’s sake, you’re closer to forty than thirty! Now look at me!” He caught both of their cheeks and they let him force them to turn towards him. “No matter what’s about to happen, I’m here. Everyone in this house supports us.”

“Your dad?”

“I…I don’t know. But it wouldn’t be the first time he’s caught us. Gods, what IS he doing out of his room?” Damian took a few calming breaths and adjusted his collar. “No. We’re going to be fine.”

Red winced. “H-he’s here. Frag me, he’s really here.”

“Then we should be the ones to greet him,” Damian pointed out. “Last time, well, Ick wasn’t exactly the most helpful.”

The three of them stepped out and walked stiffly down the hall and to the kitchen where Clark had gone to meet with Bruce. Ichabod was doling out pancakes for the men as they entered the room.

“D-Dawg! Oh, thank heavens, you got my messages!” Ichabod belted out. Damian shook his head almost imperceptibly. “Er…I mean…your dad’s up! Oh, and uhh, your dad’s here,” they added, nodding at the Jons and gesturing towards Clark. “Surpriiiiise!”

Clark looked at his split son with obvious concern. “Why are there two of you? Bruce, were you aware of this? Why are you even spending this much time in Gotham, Jonathan? As the leader of the Justice League, you’re a representative of all heroes and—”

“I was injured,” Damian spat out, cutting Clark off before his boyfriends’ heads could explode. He looked to his father, both of them clearly analyzing every word and motion with a practiced eye. “It was…bad…Quinzel was similarly hurt. My recovery has been steady, but it isn’t instant. The situation that led to my injuries is a present threat in Neo-Gotham. Miss. Miracle has been acting as a League liaison, assisting me with things as necessary. Jon similarly chose to help and has been acting as Batman in order to keep criminals from recognizing my absence.”

Bruce picked up his fork and cleared his throat. “As you can see, Clark, my call may have been premature. I find myself in a bit of a fog these days. It’s so rare that my head feels so clear. I should have waited. I went to discuss the matter with my son this morning but didn’t see him in his room. Now that I see your son is here, I suppose that makes sense.”

Both Jons stiffened.

“What?” Clark looked about, visibly confused.

“Beeeeecause I was testing something!” Ichabod squeaked out, demanding everyone’s attention. “I, uh, I mean…Clearly you can see I did SOMETHING! I was, uh, trying to, um, set things up so that Super, um, Supes-Junior could act as both himself and as Batman.”

Damian slapped his forehead.

“Yeah! Yeah, I used synthetic Kryptonite and a uh, concoction of my own design to uhh, see if I could extend the effects without, um, making him…making them…weaker…And I uhh, have a big exam coming up, so I asked Damian to, uh, monitor the Jons while I slept.”

It was a shaky explanation at best, but Clark seemed to be buying it, to Damian’s disappointment. Not that he wanted to explain their relationship when it seemed obvious that he’d just slept with not one, but two version of his Beloved. “It’s been a while since Father had a lucid day,” Damian said. “Had I known, there wouldn’t have been need to disturb you at all, sir.”

Both Jons looked down somberly before Red sighed. “That’s not it.”

Blue stared at his counterpart in disbelief.

“Dad, this is getting old. Have you really not realized it yet?”

“Shut up,” Blue whispered.

“No. This is…this is ridiculous! Damian shouldn’t have to put up with all of this mess just because I don’t have the guts to confront you!”

“I don’t! I really don’t have the guts!” Blue zipped over to his counterpart and clapped a hand over his mouth. “He doesn’t know what he’s saying!”

Red fought with Blue, determined to speak their truth, while Damian could do little more than hang his head with shame.

“Clark, correct me if I’m wrong,” Bruce said, placing a hand on his old friend’s arm, “but were you not aware that our sons have been intimate?”

The Jons froze and Damian had to take a seat to keep himself calm.

Clark looked at Bruce, utterly dumbfounded. “Our boys? My son? Bruce, you must be confused.”

“S-sir, it’s, um…it’s not really that big of a deal,” Ichabod offered. “I mean, we live in a time where…people are…um…Okay, they’re still assholes who can’t grasp genuine gender fluidity, but I’m kind of an odd case to compare with…But they make each other happy…I think…”

“No no, he does,” Damian mumbled. “In spite of everything, that idiot’s still my world.”

“Aww.”

Blue softened just a little, allowing Red to punch him in the gut, get free, and blurt out, “We’re in love!”

Damian’s head hit the kitchen island loudly.

Clark stood up, his stool falling over with a sound loud enough to silence everyone else. “Jonathan, you’re not making any sense. That’s Damian. That’s Damian Wayne! Your best friend! I…the two of you have been like brothers!”

“We’re not children, Clark,” Damian said darkly.

“So, what?” Clark snapped. “That’s my son! I…I trusted the two of you together…I…How long has this been happening? Did you assault my son when he was just learning to control his powers?”

Bruce stood up, putting himself between his friend and his child. “Clark, it’s never been like that.”

“And you! You knew about this!” Clark grabbed Bruce by the collar of his pajamas, lifting the old man clean off the floor.

“DON’T TOUCH HIM!” Damian snapped, moving to strike at Clark only to be shoved hard enough that he cracked the kitchen countertop.

“DAD!”

“I—” Clark’s eyes widened as he released Bruce and stumbled back. He looked over his shoulder at Ichabod, who was holding a chunk of Kryptonite out. “You…”

Ichabod glanced at Damian, rage apparent on their face. “You assaulted an old man and injured my patient. You’re goddamned lucky I don’t shove this rock down your throat.” Their gaze shifted to the startled Jons, who withered away from them. “And you! You’re the only ones in this room that could stop him without this stupid rock!”

“Put that away, miss,” Clark said slowly. “You don’t want to mess with me.”

Ichabod shoved the lump of Kryptonite towards Clark unapologetically. “No! I’m not a ‘miss,’ you ignorant prick! And no, I probably don’t! But you’re messing with my family, so why don’t you do us all a favor and get out of my house!”

“Icky!” Damian took the Kryptonite out of Ichabod’s hands and shoved it into a drawer. “I’m sorry for the disrespect, but if you ever threaten my father like that again, you’ll have a lot more to worry about than just their wrath.”

Clark’s jaw set. He looked to his split son and said, “We need to talk.”

Even Red looked reluctant. “I…Dad…”

“Now is not the time,” Bruce declared, somehow having recovered with dignity. “Go home, Clark. Talk to Lois first. And I’ll have to ask you to respect Crane’s wishes and stay out of here until they feel comfortable with you here.”

“But—”

“This is their home now, Clark. Not…not just mine. And honestly, I expected better from you.”

Clark took another angry look at Damian only for Ichabod to growl and try to reopen the drawer that Damian was holding shut.

“I want to talk to you too, Bruce.”

“I can’t promise that, Clark. You know that.”

Clark scoffed, and left the kitchen in a huff, brushing past Mira on his way out.

“Wow. Uhh, Lulu woke me up in tears, going on about Batman being scary and…um…I feel like I missed something.”

Ichabod exhaled deeply, scraping their fingers through their hair for a moment before smiling. “Nothing to worry about. Pancakes?”

Damian collapsed to the floor at that moment.


	9. L O L

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Damian's still recovering and he and Jon deal with the problems of having come out to Clark, Mira and Lucy investigate a couple crime scenes and a surprise guest shows up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, my pacing is ridiculous with this. Props to anybody who can guess the big baddie coming up! I promise to get more into that with the next chapter. I need to work on some of my other ongoing stuff for a bit, but Lucy demands attention and won't let me leave her alone for long!

“I don’t get what the big deal is,” Lucy noted, pulling the lead pipe out of the victim’s eye socket with a sickening pop that made Mira shudder. “I always thought Batman and Superman were fuck buddies.”

Mira fought the rising bile in her throat. “You’re not good for this sort of thing, my Lucky Penny.”

“What? I feel like I have better perspective when it comes to big revelations to parents…or regarding parents.” The knife in the victim’s chest was a little more stuck, but Lucy pulled it out just the same.

“I meant…” Mira shook her head. “I meant dealing with crime scenes.”

Lucy stared at Mira with a look of disturbing innocence plastered on her face; her blond ponytail shifting to the side as she tilted her head curiously. “Am I doing something wrong?”

Mira hated to think it, but in that moment, looking at those piercing green eyes, all she could think about was Lucy’s relation to the Joker. “Yes,” she said bluntly. “You’re treating the victims like they’re not even human.”

“Well, they’re dead,” she blurted out. To prove her point, Lucy sat one of the bloody corpses upright and waved its hands around playfully. “See? He don’t mind. And I was looking for identifying stuff. Look.” She dropped the corpse and it collapsed with a wet smack that made Mira’s stomach flip. Lucy just retrieved the knife she’d pulled out and held it up. “See these ridges? It’s a repurposed batarang, attached to a makeshift handle, all done so that the curve resembles teeth. It’s a smile. See?” She held it in front of her mouth and Mira turned away. “Mimi?”

“I’m fine. Just…don’t do that.”

Lucy tucked the blade away with a shrug. “Alright. I get it. Sorry.” She sat down on the bloody couch and crossed her legs, getting comfortable. “Fact is: Jokerz were here. They’re getting bolder. It’s no longer a bunch of idiots trying to emulate Daddy-dearest, it’s become an organized thing.”

Mira exhaled deeply, trying her best not to be disturbed by how easily Lucy handled death. “Jon and I have been at this for a week now and all we could find was that Jokerz were causing more problems than usual. What makes you think they’re getting organized?”

Lucy shrugged. “Instinct? Quick analysis? Y’know, believe it or not, I don’t just come from a line of psychopaths, but geniuses as well. I got skills, sugar-tits!”

Mira groaned at the nickname, making Lucy backtrack quickly.

“Eep! Sorry! J-just being playful!” She picked up the lead pipe and pointed out the carving that resembled the shape of the customized batarang. “Jokerz are being supplied with weapons. Or at least they’ve developed a symbol and someone’s had the brains to make them put it on their weapons like a signature. That plus the weird spike in numbers…someone’s recruiting, which means a storm’s comin’. I dunno about you, but I plan to be there, dead center, to cut it off before it gets outta control.”

“Lulu, it’s not your responsibility to stop the Jokerz,” Mira reminded her.

“Whatever, doll. In another week you’ll be all snug in some hotel the next city over, trying on dresses for the next big show and I’ll be back on my ass, hoping to be rescued by another wanna-bat what passes by, tagging my bike with a tracker or two.” Lucy swung the pipe at the only window in the room, cackling as it shattered. “Shall we look into the next lead?”

Mira almost preferred the demure and clingy Lucy that she got back at the mansion. “Remind me why I agreed to take you out for patrol tonight?”

“Recovery my booty, I was going stir crazy back there! Besides, it was me or flying solo. C’mon. Didja really think Jons one or two would jump at the opportunity to patrol after the OG Supes snapped like he did?” She did a little flip, tossing herself out the window, and catching on the fire escape on the opposite building. Mira leapt after her, looking less than thrilled. “Like I was saying before, though, I don’t see why it’s such a big deal. It’s not like he learned his kid was a serial killer or anything.”

“You’re a real character, my little Lucky Penny.”

Lucy blew Mira a kiss before using her acrobatics to get down to street level and continue their patrol.

***

“Let’s see. You split at about eight o’clock last night and fused back together fifteen minutes ago. So that makes the synthonite effects last about twenty-four hours. Not bad.” Ichabod idly took notes, all the while monitoring Damian’s vitals and watching the news feed for anything to alert the girls to. “You say the drug, however, only affected your emotions for about an hour. I guess that’s good, but the correlation is weird. I’m glad nothing got out of hand. D already promised to replace my bed, so there’s that.”

“Why did you even have Kryptonite in the kitchen,” Jon muttered. “Synthetic Kryptonite and actual Kryptonite…there’s no way Damian allowed that.”

“He trusts my judgment.”

Damian groaned and sat up, showing that he was privy to the tension in the room.

“Good morning sleepy-head! Care to tell your boytoy off for me? He’s been giving me trouble all day.”

Damian pressed his palms to his eye-sockets. “Just…tell me the damage.”

Ichabod pulled up a couple of x-rays and explained, “He aggravated your injuries, reopened your stitches, cracked a rib, and exacerbated an ulcer. Honestly, Ding-Bat, you shouldn’t have overexerted yourself.”

“Yeah, well, you’re the freak who keeps throwing weird drugs at people.”

Ichabod nodded at that. “Right. Yeah, I’ll own up to that. But I’m not the one who stood by and watched a living weapon assault an old man and an injured guy.”

“And you shouldn’t have…I mean where did you even get the Kryptonite?”

“You ever go through all the materials in the lab down here? I found a whole rainbow of Kryptonite. I was testing a few things and thought…well I didn’t put it there to fend off a bigoted old coot, if that’s what you’re suggesting.”

“Watch it,” Jon warned.

“Am I wrong?”

Jon clenched his jaw. “I…If I wasn’t of split mind…By Rao, I would have never…”

“It’s okay, Jon,” Damian reassured him. “You can…you can stay here as long as you need. I’m not going to keep you from going back to the Watchtower to do your work. If push comes to shove, I’ll…I’ll enlist some help from the Hoods if I need another stand in for Batman. I’ll be back out there in a day or two.”

Normally Jon would argue that Damian needed more recovery time, but he was too exhausted and mentally spent to even bother. He just nodded and went for the stairs to the mansion.

“He’s in shock,” Damian muttered, sliding off of the gurney. “He’ll get over it.”

“Hey, you’re the one dating the guy who’s still scared of his daddy’s opinion.” Ichabod sent a quick message to Mira, giving her coordinates to an ongoing police call. “Just…y’know…I like you, okay? And before you get all defensive and ready to evict me again, it’s nothing like that. You’re kind of awesome. And don’t even get me started on your old man.”

Both Ichabod and Damian scoffed together.

“So, let me get this straight. He was just…up and about?” Damian finally thought to ask.

“A lucid day. Can you believe it? I’ve been here for months and I figured he was content to just stay hidden away no matter his condition.”

“And after Clark left?”

“He came down here with us to make sure I gave you the best care, and then used security feeds of his own room to deduce which drugs you were giving him so that he could take them properly. Honestly, the guy’s fantastic when he can remember what’s going on.”

Damian nodded. “And now?”

Ichabod sighed. “About an hour ago he began muttering things under his breath. He let me walk him back to his room only if Ace followed us the whole way. Told me I was an odd choice for his Robin to be dating these days. I couldn’t even begin to guess which one he meant and thankfully he didn’t say much else.”

Bruce’s lucid days were few and far between. Ichabod understood that well enough, but they didn’t quite realize just how painful it was for Damian to know that he’d all but missed one. 

“He approved…”

Ichabod shrugged. “Did you ever doubt it? The guy’s ancient and yet he doesn’t bat an eye at me. Why would his son’s sexual preference bother him?”

“Most of the time he doesn’t even acknowledge that I exist. He just yells at me, calling me by Grayson’s name.”

“Well, at least you know he’s more confident in you than he was in that guy.” Ichabod tapped through the feeds on the Bat-Computer’s holo screens when something caught their eye. “Shit.”

“I see it,” Damian muttered, tapping the button to link into Mira’s communicator. “Twelfth and Main. Something big is happening. Keep Pennywise close. Let me know if you need backup.”

[Good to hear you’re up,] Mira replied. [We were actually on our way there now. My Lucky Penny beat the information out of a Jokerz grunt. There’s a rally. Someone’s organizing the clowns.]

“Be careful.”

[Honestly, have a little faith, Bats. I’m a Leaguer for a reason.]

“And Pennywise isn’t. Exercise extreme caution.”

***

It was supposed to be an easy night. Check in on Dana’s dad, check in with Max, and call it a night. But while walking back to where he parked his bike outside of the hospital, he saw a familiar clown skipping about with an impressively tall woman tagging along close behind.

Terry had done a fair amount of research into the clown after he got involved with Batman. Max wasn’t stupid either. She’d already used an algorithm to narrow down the suspects for Batman and, given age and body type, two prime suspects were Bruce Wayne and then his son Damian Wayne. Having tracked the route the Batmobile had taken him to that night, he’d proven beyond a shadow of a doubt. Not that it mattered. Batman did good things. No reason to make a fuss over it.

The unusual clown girl, however, sent up a few red flags.

He’d chosen to track her, initially, because she seemed to be on a different level from the Jokerz in town. The last thing he’d expected was to find her getting kidnapped by some Jokerz. He tried to step in to help only to wind up getting in over his head. She actually saved his life before Batman showed up. It was all he could do at the time to get her and Batman out of the situation and to safety.

Further research on Max’s part had dug up the truth about the girl clown; she was the real Joker’s daughter. At first the revelation had disgusted him, but the more he thought about it, the more he understood that she wasn’t acting as one of the Jokerz, she was just repenting for mistakes that she didn’t even make.

So, when he revved his bike’s motor and saw that same clown girl, dressed in that costume she’d been wearing when she’d saved him, he couldn’t help himself. He kept his distance but followed her through Neo-Gotham. It turned out she was working with Miss Miracle, who would fly them around more often than not on nothing more than a couple of Frisbee-looking things. They finally came to a stop at old town just past Founders Pier. He killed his motor and used his phone to record.

“I’m getting pretty tired of getting to people too late,” Miracle noted.

“Jokerz are getting pretty aggressive. Wouldn’t it be great to just gather them all in one place and BOOM!?” the clown noted playfully.

“So glad your solution to murder is mass murder.”

“Oh, don’t be so serious. We’re dealing with a buncha clowns!”

“This isn’t funny. None of this is funny! Look at these people!”

“I am, Mimi. And I can see it all. They’re smiling but look at the marks on their faces. It’s like they tried to peel off their own skin. This was a test.”

“So, the Joker toxin is back. Great. We should call in the League. This is no longer minor. If someone were to use this for biological warfare—”

“It’s not his toxin, Mimi, it’s my blood,” the clown confirmed. “It was some sick thing he did to make sure that if Batsy killed him, well, it’d be his greatest joke to make the Bat the Joker in his place. And that blood’s in me. I bleed and the last thing you should do is drink it. Heh. No vampire fantasies I guess.”

“Quit joking around.”

“Again, Mimi, clown. It’s really my M.O, y’know?”

“There’s at least ten people here, dead! Why aren’t you more broken up over this?”

“Cuz, hot-stuff, you can send the League and they can start an army and I know I’ll fight ‘em right to the end. There’s somethin’ a little exhilarating about the thought of finding the Jokerz joke behind this and showing him what it really means to be a Joker.”

Terry tried to lean around the corner to get a better look at the scene they were discussing only to have a knife thrown just by his head.

“Oopsie! You look like Wanna-Bat! That you, Wanna-Bat?”

He stepped out into view, figuring there was no point in hiding now. “Wanna-what?”

Miss Miracle regarded him with a smile. “Oh, you’re the guy who saved my Lucky Penny. I’d thank you again, but honestly I’m more curious why you’re here.”

Terry felt frozen under the giantess’ gaze. “Uhh. I…I saw her and…I mean…”

“Oh yeah! You put the tracker on my bike, jerk!” The clown girl punched him in the arm pretty hard. “Dick move. Wait, that’s a Robin and you look more like a Bat. Ummm…Fuck you. We’ll just go with that. Fuck you.”

“What…what is she going on about?”

“I try not to ask questions,” Miss Miracle mumbled.

Terry finally took a moment to locate the people they’d been discussing. It was a massacre. Corpses piled in the shadows by the buildings, each with bleached skin, bloody injuries, and smiles that split their faces. “Your blood does this?”

The clown girl smirked. “Only most of it. Makes people a lil nutso and look like my old man…Oh, and definitely raises homicidal tendencies. Nah, they got a mix of me and some good ol’ fashioned Fear Toxin. Betcha the mix is a helluva hallucinogen! Can you imagine feeling amused and terrified at the same time? It’s kinda crazy their brains aren’t just mush.”

Terry and Miss Miracle both shuddered at the cheerful way that the girl explained the awful scene. But he noticed something else. Tagged on the wall nearby was the letters ‘L O L’ with a crown in the middle of the ‘O.’ “Damnit.”

“Hey, I know that face. Whatcha see, Wanna-Bat? Don’t tell me you’re just a concerned citizen. At this point ya owe me an explanation.”

Terry nodded. “I…I think I know who’s behind all of this.”


	10. Ichabod Character Sketch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amazing Ichabod sketch done by a personal friend!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hallo! Sorry this isn't an actual chapter update. I'm also sorry I haven't been consistent. Might as well have been on a hiatus for all the writing I haven't accomplished lately. But I promise I'm working on the chapter now. It just occurred to me while working on it that I've had a couple amazing concept sketches from a friend who shall remain unnamed (their choice, not mine. If given the opportunity I'd sing their praises, but I respect their wishes).
> 
> Anywho, this is NOT something that I drew (if it was, it would be much more stick-figurey...). I wish. But it is an Ichabod sketch! They have been rendered in a visible image beyond my words! Whoo! Just wanted to share them. 
> 
> I'm doing my best to get momentum back in my writing. Here's hoping this helps to motivate me and reminds everyone why Ichabod is the best!

Name: Ichabod Crane

Gender: non-specific (intersex and has no preference).

Pronouns: them/they/theirs (but people tend to pick the terms they want, which doesn't bother them unless the person in question bothers them).

Age: 23

Hair: Silvery gray--long with an undercut that goes just over each ear. They often keep their hair tied back or in a messy bun to keep it out of their face.

Eyes: Brown with flecks of yellow.

Skin tone: pale with a slight yellow hue (like constant light jaundice).

Family: Child of Jonathan Crane (Scarecrow) and an unnamed woman whom he used for experimentation. Throughout gestation their mother was constantly subjected to Scarecrow's signature fear toxin. They were rescued in their early years by Batman (Bruce) and placed in foster care where they were largely overlooked because of their genetic abnormalities. A couple decades later they answered an ad put out by Helena Wayne for room and board at the Wayne Mansion and met Damian. They largely consider Damian and Bruce to be their family and are very protective of them.

Education: Genius level IQ led to exceptional marks through high school and a fast track through college. They're currently enrolled in the top medical program in the country at Gotham U under a Wayne Foundation scholarship. Their intention is to go into surgery, but because of their name and other biases, they are often relegated to morgue duties where they spend much of their time experimenting with medications in order to make custom drugs (which are very much not legal). Luckily the habit comes in handy for Batman.

Habits: Ichabod is known for pushing boundaries with everyone that they encounter as a means of testing their tolerance. They cycle through nicknames that make fun and poke at insecurities with everyone that they're not overly respectful of. Their particular favorites are Dingy/Ding-Bat for Damian. They're known for experimenting in inappropriate places (particular favorite being the mansion's downstairs kitchen). Testing themself with puzzles and games is a welcome challenge, though it doesn't always look like they do them well. After playing a game for a certain amount of time they tend to reach a point of mastery and seek out the next most amusing challenge.

Additional traits: Due to Scarecrow's experimentation and genetics, Ichabod suffers from a form of Urbach Wiethe's disease that's less physically apparent, but affects their brain, preventing them from properly feeling fear. Because of this many of their impulsive actions can be seen as dangerous to themself and others and can often lead to additional complications. They do their best to protect themself as a means of making up for these issues, but it certainly doesn't hurt to be close to Batman.

Favorite color: Orange, because it's just as obnoxious and out there as they are.

Favorite food: Potato chips or most things with far too much salt. They particularly love eating chips in the Batcave.

Drink of choice: Bloody Mary, often with unusual or uncommon garnishes.

PS: Open to add more info to this profile upon request!


	11. Stepping Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon runs into unexpected trouble while trying to figure out how to handle his relationship situation and Terry reveals the identity of the Joker King.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoo! Took a bit to work out the kinks, but I've finally got a real chapter for you! Here's hoping it's enjoyable! I'll do my best to maintain the momentum and avoid another huge gap between chapters. Thank you to everyone who comes back to read on and of course thank you to any newcomers who take some joy from this story!

“Hey there.”

Jon barely mumbled in response.

“Erm… I was… I was hoping to buy you a drink.”

“Mm.”

“Dude, are you okay?”

“You’re the sixth person to offer,” Jon finally said. “Am I doing something that says: ‘I need a drink’?”

The guy rubbed his neck and noted, “You, uh, you know you’re alone at the most popular gay hookup spot in Neo-Gotham, right?”

Jon sat up quickly and stared at the guy in earnest shock. “This isn’t just a bar?”

“It’s called ‘Richard’s Liquors.’”

“Because the owner’s name is Richard, right?”

The guy shrugged. “Maybe, but that’s not… Okay, so you’re just a guy here for a drink. Would you like some company, stranger?”

Jon’s head dropped again. “I… don’t know.”

The guy scooted in on his barstool and flagged the bartender down. “Two of whatever he’s having.”

Jon tried to force a smile, but his whole body felt like it was frowning. He had no desire to lift his own spirits. “So… you’re gay?”

The guy scoffed. “Last I checked. I had a brief pan-phase in college, but vagina just doesn’t do it for me. How about you?”

Jon shifted uncomfortably, having realized that he had bitten off a little more than he could chew. “I… I’ve only ever loved one person… one guy.”

“You seem a little old to be pining over a first love,” the stranger admitted.

“I, uh, get that a lot.” It was a weak lie, but what few Leaguers who knew about him and Damian often joked about just how long they’d been doing this dance. “I thought we were great but… You’re gay, right?”

Will a roll of his eyes, the guy replied, “Hasn’t changed in the last minute.”

“And your family knows?”

The bartender set the drinks in front of them right at that moment.

“Ah. almost the 40’s and bigotry is still going strong, huh? I don’t have a dad. It’s an old story, but the whole, ‘went off to buy cigarettes and never came back,’ cliché is a cliché for a reason. Though it wasn’t my mother who really raised me. If she had the choice, I think she’d have left with him. I was mostly raised by my uncle, who couldn’t have cared less if I was screwing livestock. So, I guess my family knows. They just don’t care.”

That was a lot more of an explanation than Jon had expected.

“What about you, hot stuff? Coming out got you down?”

“My father’s… old-fashioned. Grew up on a farm, believing in the ‘American Way.’”

“Ah. Staunch disbeliever in the ‘American Gay,’ huh?”

Jon shrugged. “I hoped that wasn’t the case but… I knew he was uncomfortable with the subject. I shouldn’t have pushed the issue.”

“Well I know it’s another cliché, but who cares what he thinks?”

Jon slouched even more. “I know this is going to sound weird, but everyone. Truly everyone cares what he thinks.”

At least the guy wasn’t inclined to push the issue. “Well, if he’s some bigoted old-fart, then I don’t care what he thinks. And if your partner’s got two cents about him, I’m sure he doesn’t care either.”

“He doesn’t,” Jon blurted out. “I’m the problem.” He slouched further so that his chin was resting on his arms and his eyes were level with the drink in front of him. “I mean, Dad’s the problem, but it’s not like it’s HIS relationship.”

It was supposed to be as easy as that. Maybe for Damian it had always been that straightforward. But Bruce accepted it. Bruce saw them together and saw no problem (beyond maybe some hero-related conflicts of interest, but he was nice enough not to voice them… possibly because his memory was fading). And yet, for far too long, Jon was the one who had kept things difficult.

“Not to, uh, judge or anything, but you’re no spring chicken. Is your man a saint or something?” the guy suddenly said. “I mean, pining is one thing, but I can’t imagine doing it for more than a year, maybe two tops. What are you on?”

Jon bit his bottom lip. Twenty-some years WAS a long time. “He’s… insane,” Jon breathed. “I mean, he should have kicked me to the curb years ago.”

The guy gave Jon a once over and smiled. “Well, I can think of a few reasons to keep you around.”

“Yo! The fuck are you doing?”

Jon choked on a swallow of his drink and looked back towards the entrance to the bar where Lucy stood with a bloody hover-bike handlebar in her left hand. She was fully clad in her usual clown-gear and looked like she’d lost her already fragile mind.

“Easy, Pennywise,” Jon stood up and went towards her slowly. “You don’t want to do anything drastic.”

She scoffed and threw the handlebar at the guy who had been chatting Jon up. Thankfully Jon was still in the line of fire and was thus able to catch it without using super speed and giving himself away. “What is WRONG with you?” he snapped.

“Me? You’re the skeezy asshat who’s talking up a Jokerz freak at a gay bar when you SHOULD be making kissy-faces with that fine piece of man-meat you’ve got waiting for you at the biggest joke of a mansion in this freaky city!”

Jon rubbed his temples. “I wasn’t doing anything… Wait, did you say Jokerz?”

The guy pulled a gun and this time Jon used his speed to take the bullet before crushing the gun in his hand. “Big mistake.”

“Yipe! What the hell are you?”

“Hey, don’t mess up my target! I’ve been tailing this piece of trash for days!” Lucy squeezed herself between the two of them and slammed the guy’s head down on the bar counter, before downing his drink and breaking the glass in order to threaten him with its jagged edges. “Okay, Punch. You ready to tell me about the Joker King’s plan?”

Jon stiffened and looked around at the number of concerned and startled onlookers who had just been enjoying themselves until Lucy Shanghai’d the place. “Uhh, don’t mind us! We’re just doing work sanctioned by Batman. We’ll be out of your hair in a minute.”

“Little Jokerz bitch is damaging my property!” the bartender shouted.

Lucy fixed her bright green eyes on the man and pointed the jagged glass at him. “You really wanna push me?”

“Pennywise, come on!”

She rolled her eyes and lifted the guy’s head a little only to slam it down hard. “Talk!”

“I don’t know anything!”

She began to scrape the glass along his cheek, drawing out a line of crimson in its wake. “Wrong answer, chuckles. Now let’s try this again. There’s a psycho fan of my old man running around these streets with a drug made of my toxic blood and Scarecrow’s fear shit. Damned punk’s been recruiting more Jokerz goons from out of town. Stop me if I’m wrong. He’s planning something and I. Want. Answers.”

“Could you let up a little?” Jon whispered. “You’re scaring a lot more than just him.”

Lucy groaned and slashed the glass at Jon’s stomach, tearing through his shirt and breaking it further. “Heh. D’s lucky he’s got a man whose abs could cut glass,” she muttered before grabbing the guy’s hair and pulling his head up so that she could press what was now hardly more than a shard of glass to his neck. “I’m getting impatient, ass-clown! Better start talking!”

“Okay, okay! I don’t know what the boss is planning, but I know about the recruitment push! He had some old Jokerz peddle the blood-drug without the fear stuff to small-time criminals all over the place before inviting them to the ‘Main Event’.”

“And what’s this ‘Main Event’ gonna entail, huh?”

“N-n-nobody knows! He just says it’ll be the biggest laugh Gotham’s seen since the Joker disappeared!”

“Alright, well where are you idiots supposed to be meeting for this event, then?”

“A-at the front of Neo-Gotham General tomorrow! I swear that’s all I know! Please just—”

Lucy slammed his head down on the counter again, this time letting him go so that he slumped down to the floor unconscious. “I’m still pissed at you,” she hissed as she stepped over her victim and back towards the door.

Jon looked back and forth between her and the guy on the floor before chasing after her. “Wait! Don’t you need to call NGCPD or something?”

“Pretty sure a few people in there already did. Now, why the flying-fuck were you hitting on a Jokerz slagger at Dick Lickers?”

Jon sputtered. “At WHAT? No! It’s Richard’s Liqu—oh… Oh! I can’t believe I missed that.”

“Look, Batsy-Boy and I aren’t always on the best terms, but I like him a helluva lot more than I like you and I don’t take kindly to people I like being hurt. So you’d better keep up. I’ve got a couple more clowns to beat down before sunrise and if I don’t get a good explanation, you’d better believe I’ll hit up Icky-Butt for some krypto-coction to cockblock you good!”

Jon grimaced at the threat before noticing the alarming number of unconscious and bloodied Jokerz just outside of the bar. “Frag me.”

“The frag is a ‘frag’?”

“Oh, just a term Lobo used. He helped me out a while back. It kind of stuck. I don’t really like using obscenities because people look up to me, you know?”

Lucy stopped and looked him right in the eyes—a funny thing since she was at least a foot shorter than him, even with the heels she wore with her costume—and said, “Titty-fucker.”

Jon’s face scrunched up in disgust. “Yeah. Can you imagine Superman saying that?”

“Cock-gobbler.”

“It’s not like I’m going to repeat what you say.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Jizz-muncher.”

“Could you stop?”

“Could. Won’t. But whatever, fuck-stick. Better start explaining before I find something else to break against those abs.”

Jon tugged at the rip in his shirt and sighed. “I was just trying to get a moment to myself.”

“BZZZZT! Wrong answer!” Lucy flipped backwards, picked up a discarded Jokerz’s knife, and threw it at Jon’s head. He caught it and glared daggers back at her. “You haven’t been around the mansion in days, and I KNOW you’re not working on some League shit. Mira got called back for something and she hasn’t seen hide or hair of you.”

“So maybe I needed some space! It’s not like that’s wrong.”

Lucy snatched up a crowbar and let it loose at Jon, who caught it again only to cast it aside. “You’re making it feel like Bratman’s the one at fault,” she pointed out.

“What? No, he hasn’t done anything wrong!”

“And yet he spends his evenings with Ickawad going over case info when he should be taking it easy with—oh, I don’t know—his boyfriend maybe?” She swiped a knife out of one of the Jokerz’s shoulder, ignoring the blood that spurted out upon its removal, and lobbed it at Jon once again.

“He’d be doing that even if I WAS there,” Jon said as he caught the blade. His eyes went wide the moment it hit his hand and Lucy covered her mouth in shock.

The blade had gone right through cleanly.

“WHAT THE FUCK!?” Jon shouted.

Lucy’s concern cracked and she smirked. “You said ‘fuck’.”

“NOT THE ISSUE!”

“Yeah, you’re right. This is huge!” She grabbed his wrist and, without any warning, ripped the knife right out of his hand.

“WHY!?”

“Evidence that the Jokerz supplier might be someone higher up. Not a lot of people who still have access to kryptonite, after all. I can only think of two places to get it—not including wherever Pick-a-buck hides it.”

Jon proceeded to use his ripped shirt to craft a makeshift bandage for his hand. “Why would they need kryptonite?”

“Syntho-nite.”

Jason Todd stepped out of a nearby alleyway and flicked a cigarette aside.

“What the hell is the leader of the Red Hoods doing out?” Jon asked, tensed and ready to fight if needed.

“Calm down, Kent. I’m here because I could spot Pennywise’s handywork from a mile away and figure she’s in contact with the Bat these days.”

Lucy straightened up and held the knife out to Jason. “They’re not after this Super then?” she asked, motioning towards Jon.

Jason took the knife and looked at it closely. “Hard to say. They were stupid enough to try to steal from me. Bizarro’s syntho-nite pools were invaded. He caught the Jokerz in question, but one among them did something to the syntho-nite that changed its color and made Biz docile.”

“Sounds like they’ve got their own chemist,” Lucy noted.

“And if they’re accumulating syntho-nite, it’s safe to say that they’re anticipating Justice League level retaliation," Jason added.

Jon stared at Lucy in confusion. Her entire demeanor had shifted. He’d only met her a couple of times before and was much more used to the hyperactive and confusing girl. The level of violence that she was capable of and comfortable with was certainly concerning, but now, seeing her perfectly calm and discussing things with Neo-Gotham’s greatest crime lord left him feeling particularly anxious. “I’ll call the League,” he offered. “I can have forces here within—”

Jason pointed the knife at Jon and clicked his tongue. “Not a chance, Junior. This is Neo-Gotham. We do things differently here, and now that they’ve attacked me and mine, this has become a family matter. I won’t have your team getting in my way.”

“Getting in your—are you insane? You just said this was League level!”

Jason cocked his head slightly so that Jon could see the scar over his lost eye better. “I said they’re anticipating it. If there’s no Superman around to get hurt by syntho-nite weapons, there’s one less problem to worry about.”

“What about Bizarro?”

“Opposite of a Kryptonian. Worst they can do is make him docile again. We’ll take care of things. Tell Batman he has aid in this one, but we play by my rules… And Lucy… the offer still stands.”

“I know,” she replied somberly, “but it’s not right without her.”

“Nothing is.” He handed her the knife and looked to Jon. “I can’t force you to stay away, but know that your status as Batman’s booty-call won’t keep you safe if you cross me.”

Jon fought the urge to punch the guy. He still remembered Jason as the one and only Red Hood and the red sheep in the herd of black sheep that was the Bat family. Bruce had always tried to keep him on a tight leash, but never fully succeeded. Why Damian allowed him to continue running his operation in Neo-Gotham right under the Bat’s nose was beyond Jon’s understanding.

A painful poke to his side snapped him out of his state of reverie. “Did you just try to stab me?” he yelped.

Lucy’s demeanor had shifted once again as she toyed with the syntho-knife. “I barely grazed you. Now c’mon! We’ve still got shit to do!”

Jon scoffed but kept pace with her. “What was that, anyways? You were totally different around Jason.”

“Todd’s got my respect, that’s all.”

Jon waited for more, but that seemed to be all she had to say on the matter. “Uh, how does one earn that?”

Lucy groaned loudly. “Once upon a time I was… close with the Red Hood. Now keep up! The den I plan to hit up is a few blocks away.”

Jon shuddered at the thought of her being close with Jason (though he had stopped aging in his early twenties). “What was he offering, a hook-up?”

Lucy turned on him and held the knife threateningly this time. “Get your head out of the gutter, Super-Butt! I was close with Sasha.”

“Sasha? Who the heck is—”

“She wore the helmet when Todd took a break from it all. You might have known her better as Scarlet.”

That made Jon drop his guard. “O-oh. I didn’t—”

“Most people don’t know about her time in the hood,” Lucy admitted. “But she saved my life once… or twice.” She turned on her heels and started down the road again, expecting him to walk along with her. “Right when I first found out about my parents, I went on a little bender of sorts. Attacked anyone wearing clown makeup until I got in over my head. That’s when my knight in shining helmet showed up. You’d best believe I was smitten.”

“You and Scarlet?” Jon’s stomach twisting into knots. He never really knew her, but he certainly knew OF her. “I’m so—”

“Sorry. Yeah. That’s why I don’t bring it up. She helped me to really find myself. Todd wasn’t overly okay with me, though. Can’t imagine why,” she said with a self-deprecating shrug. “Couldn’t be the whole relation to the Joker or anything.”

“But he said there was an offer,” Jon interjected.

“And Scar’s corpse was dropped on his doorstep. Yeah. Tragedy tends to bring people together.” She came upon a closed off, graffiti covered garage and took a deep breath. “I have a standing offer to join the Red Hoods, but I’m no hero.”

Jon grimaced. “They’re not heroes.”

“Maybe not, but they do things for a greater good. I do what I do for self-gratification. Scar may have found her family with Todd, but I don’t need another family. I need to forget about the one I’ve got.” She kicked at the padlock at the bottom of the garage door. “You mind?”

“Right.” Jon looked at the lock and gave it a quick zap with his heat vision. Lucy then hoisted the shudder up, revealing a number of Jokerz working in a lab who all looked like painted deer caught in headlights.

“Trick-or-treat, mother fuckers!” Lucy screeched before driving her knee up into the groin of the nearest clown.

Watching Pennywise at work was more than a little shocking. Somehow, he’d always assumed she was efficient. Calculated even. Seeing her now, he wasn’t sure how he’d gotten that impression. Just like everything else about her, her style of fighting was completely unpredictable. She was showboating quite a bit too; flipping now and then for the hell of it, snatching up viable weapons only to cast some aside without using them and holding onto others only to nearly brain any poor soul who got too close.

When there were only a couple of guys left huddled together in the corner as she eyed them hungrily, Jon used his super speed to knock them out before she could get the chance.

“Buzzkill!”

Jon shrugged. “The place could still use a proper investigation.”

Lucy crossed her arms over her chest. “Whatever.” She kicked the closest guy in the head for good measure before heading over to get a few samples of whatever it was they were concocting. “Hey, you wanna drink some of this and tell me if it affects Supers?”

“No!”

“Aww, c’mon! Least I’m asking! Tickle-Fuck would just slip it into your soup without telling you!”

Jon groaned. “I hate how accurate that statement is.”

Lucy rolled her eyes and stashed a few vials in her bosom before hoisting up a lead pipe and letting it fly at Jon, who moved out of the way, letting it clatter against the wall.

Instead of getting annoyed with her again, he tried to distract her by talking to her more. “You know, I don’t even know if you’re a metahuman,” he said. “The League’s database doesn’t have much info on you.”

“Really? Pretty sure the Bat-Computer has everything down to my bra size logged,” she joked (he hoped). “Anywho, Mom got enhanced by Poison Ivy once upon a time and Pops was just plain whack-a-do. I inherited her agility and his blood. Makes me a walking time-bomb. Bet I could take you, though. Wouldn’t even need a syntho-knife.”

Speaking of, she continued to toss various weapons at him again.

“Could you stop that? I feel like at any second you’re going to get me again.”

She giggled and picked up a machete. “Wouldn’t that be fun, though? YEET!”

Jon was careful to catch the thing by the handle, but the edge of the blade still managed to leave a large gash in his shoulder.

“SONOFABITCH!”

“Ha! Two dollars in the swear jar!” She proceeded to pick up a revolver, look it over, and then empty out a batch of green-tinted bullets into her hand. “Mmm, gonna hafta agree with Todd. You should stay the HELL away from the ‘Main Event’ tomorrow. At this rate half of the Jokerz populace will be equipped to kill you.”

“Look, not that I don’t appreciate what has been the strangest bonding time of my life, but I’m not used to bleeding!”

“Right. Need me to call in a pick-up or you wanna fly your own ass back to base?”

“Base? You don’t mean—”

“I totally mean MAKE UP WITH YOU MAN! But yes, pretty sure the only person in Neo-Gotham equipped to patch up a Super is—”

“Don’t say it!”

*

“It’s good to have you back, Mr. Wayne.”

“Always a pleasure, Mr. Wayne.”

“Glad to see you’re back in good health, Mr. Wayne.”

Damian’s father was good with formalities because, as he had once claimed, Bruce Wayne was the mask.

“It’s good to see all of you. I’m glad to hear the recent event at my residence was pleasurable. I only regret that I was too… preoccupied to greet you personally.”

For Damian these situations always felt beneath him. It was largely why he had Helena running most things with his company. Somehow, even decades after having left the League of Assassins, he viewed his employees as little more than ants working to maintain the colony that was Wayne Enterprises. There was no mask for him to wear to change his disposition, so it was all he could do to smile and feign authentic sympathy.

“Let me go! I need to talk to Mr. Wayne!”

Damian failed to dismiss himself from his gaggle of employees as he rushed over to the main doors where a couple of security guards were holding back Terry McGinnis.

“It’s alright. He’s my… personal assistant,” Damian claimed. When that earned curious stares he elaborated with, “I’ve found the need for a little extra help since Helena’s departure. With my recent health issues, I chose to hire an extra hand.”

Rather than continue to stare dumbfounded, Terry yanked his arm free from one of the guards. “You heard the man. Buzz off, corporate dregs!” He fixed his jacket and went over to Damian looking pseudo-dignified. “Mr. Wayne, I need to talk to you about the, uh, shwarbage situation.”

Damian raised an eyebrow.

Terry groaned. “Look, I have information for you… sir.”

Damian adjusted his tie and nodded towards his employees. “Never a dull moment. Send in the quarter’s reports by the end of the week. Contact me if any issues arise.”

Terry followed Damian out the door only to stop upon reaching the expensive car just outside. “Get in.”

“This is yours?”

“If this is the vehicle that impresses you, I should update my repertoire,” Damian said as he settled into the back seat. “Now get in.”

Terry nodded. “Shway.” He settled into the back seat next to Damian, then realized there wasn’t anyone in the driver’s seat. “Oh, did you expect me to—”

“Penny-Six, take me home.”

[Right away sir.]

The car started itself, floated off the road, and began driving itself. “Holy crap.”

[You don’t usually have company on these drives, Master Damian.]

“Register Terry McGinnis to your databanks, Penny-Six. You will likely be seeing more of him soon.”

[Understood, Master Damian.]

Terry stared at Damian in silent shock.

“It’s an AI assistant. Designed it myself,” Damian explained.

“Why doesn’t it refer to you as ‘Master Wayne’?”

“It’s programmed to refer to my father that way.”

“The old dude’s still kicking?”

Now it was Damian’s turn to look surprised. “Of course. All of Neo-Gotham would have known if my father had passed.”

“Sure, but rumors fly. My personal favorite’s the one about how he’s some old vampire who prefers to dwell in a cave rather than deal with the press any longer.” He shrugged. “Though now that I know where the Batcave is, that just makes things a little more amusing.”

“Well, he’s alive and… We’re not here to discuss him. You said you had information.”

“Yeah.” Terry slouched in his seat and Damian found himself disturbed by the lingering memory of Lucy’s statement about how he resembled Damian’s father. It was uncanny. “I… I know who the Joker King is.”

“That’s rather important information. It could help us to close this case.”

“I know… I mean… I’ve known for some time now.”

“And you’re only telling me now?”

Terry locked his hands together and pulled them up so that they covered his mouth. The position was one that Bruce favored when contemplating things. “I tried to take care of things on my own. Or at least make sure that he was… I mean, it wasn’t my place to…”

Damian leaned back; arms crossed over his chest. “We’re rather newly acquainted, McGinnis. Knowing that I’m Batman doesn’t amend that fact. But if you have information that can help me to keep this city safe—”

“His name is Douglas Tan. I’m… close with his sister.”

Damian waited, letting the story come out naturally.

“It never made much sense. Dana didn’t know why her brother was so obsessed with the Joker. It scared her and their parents. But trying to redirect his idol-worship backfired. He joined a Jokerz gang and got into some messed up stuff. Their parents didn’t know, but Dana did. She still worried about her brother. Tried to get him to talk to her. She found out that he thought the Jokerz were weak sauce. It gave her hope. Maybe he was growing out of it. But then he got arrested for attempted manslaughter.”

“Jokerz are violent, but they don’t go that far. Not with intent.”

“He did,” Terry confirmed. “Actually, he tried to kill one of the Jokerz in his gang. Sliced up his face to make a permanent smile before slitting his throat.”

“And what makes you believe he’s the Joker King?”

“He’s out on parole,” Terry explained. “A mystery benefactor paid his bail and he’s been missing ever since. The officer in charge of him turned up dead with a smile carved into his face. It was too much of a coincidence, so I tried to track him down. Put Dana’s mind at ease. And when I ran into Pennywise and Ms. Miracle that one night and we saw ‘LOL’ tagged at the crime scene… I just knew. See, Doug has ‘LOL’ tattooed across his chest. It’s part of his signature look.”

Damian nodded slowly, taking it all in. He was already using his contact lenses to look up everything on Douglas Tan. He was skimming through the arrest report at that very moment. “Knowing who he is will certainly help in locating him, but it’s only half of the battle,” he said as the car pulled into mansion’s garage. “Walk with me, McGinnis. We still have much to discuss.”

*

“Let me get this straight. You were at Dick Lickers getting hit on by some Jokerz slag when Loony showed up and stabbed you?”

“Ow!”

“Oh, I’ve barely touched you,” Ichabod muttered, pushing the needle into Jon's shoulder. “Lovely how Dingy keeps kryptonite lighting down here and in most rooms of the mansion. Why do I even keep those rocks stashed away?”

“Yeah, we need to talk about tha—ow!”

Ichabod had Jon stripped out of his shirt and was working on the gash in his shoulder, albeit not as carefully as they could be. “Yeah, that one was on purpose. Just a few more stitches. Better thank Loony-Bin for making you come back here.” Ichabod purposely stabbed into Jon’s shoulder before continuing. “Dunno why I’m helping you out, though, knowing you were cheating on my boy.”

“I wasn’t—OW!”

“Yeah, that was on purpose too.” Ichabod cut the thread and set the needle aside. “If you want, I can use liquid stitches on your hand.”

“What!?”

“Like I’d pass up an opportunity to poke at you in a more literal sense than usual.” Ichabod searched a nearby drawer and pulled out a tube. “Let me see that hand.”

Jon kept his hand away. “How do I know you’re not going to poison me or drug me or something?”

“Trust me, I would. But Dingy’d be upset if I did and I’m trying to stay on his good side, so he’ll actually listen to me about his treatment.”

“So instead you torment me with stitches?”

“I stand by my actions.”

Jon rolled his eyes and held out his wounded hand. “Where is Damian, anyways?”

“Official Wayne Enterprises business,” Ichabod said dramatically. “His leave of absence was extended unexpectedly after Super-Douche aggravated his injuries.”

“Watch it.”

“Just stating facts.”

Jon watched Ichabod apply the gel and within seconds there was a puckering scar where the hole had been. “How has he been?”

“Reclusive,” Ichabod blurted out. “Shocker, right? He’s even been having Android-D give the old man his meds. I offered, but I guess the guy doesn’t always respond well to less familiar faces.” They picked up the syntho-nite laced machete and traced a finger over the Jokerz symbol engraved in the metal. “Synthesized Joker/Scarecrow drugs, widespread Jokerz recruitment, and now syntho-nite stolen form the Red Hoods. This is getting too weird.”

“THIS is weird?” Jon flexed his hand a few times, testing it out. “I thought Neo-Gotham was always weird. Home of the Jokerz, slappers, splicers, Red Hoods—”

Ichabod stepped away from the med-bay and pulled up all of their files on the Joker King situation. “Joker’s blood, Scarecrow’s toxin, syntho-nite. What do those things have in common?”

“They’re all things that are dangerous?”

Ichabod rolled their eyes. “What DOES D see in you? Honestly, aside from impenetrable abs, you’re just a dork who couldn’t do sudoku.”

“I can do sudoku.”

Ichabod sighed and tried again. “I’m just saying; it feels a little disturbing that the Jokerz represent the antithesis of Batman, syntho-nite or any form of kryptonite is the antithesis of Superman and—”

“And your father’s drug is involved too.”

“It can be taught!” He pulled up a large image of Damian from an old article and explained, “Whoever’s orchestrating this might be aware of Batman’s identity, his roommate, and his love life. Can’t imagine there’s a lot of people who fit that bill.”

Jon shuddered. “Aside from a few of the Justice Leaguers and maybe a Titan or two, our relationship is mostly a secret.”

“And a rando-Jokerz slag who chatted you up at the bar…”

Jon’s face lit up. “Look, there’s more to what happened than what Lucy told you.”

“There’d better be. Who goes to Dick Lickers after something like that?”

Jon couldn’t get past the bar’s apparently notorious reputation. “I HONESTLY didn’t get that ‘Richard’s Liquors’ was a gay bar.”

Ichabod smirked. “Dumber than a brick… But sadly believable, since it’s you.”

“Do you always have to be such an ass?”

“I’m protective of people who are important to me.”

“Why does Damian matter so much to you, huh? You’re just the tenant who answered his sister’s ad.”

Ichabod scoffed. “Sure, but I’m the one who she actually chose. Knowing what I do now, that decision can’t have been made lightly. But right now, we’re discussing YOU, remember? Now, explain yourself.”

Jon groaned. “Look, I’ve spent the last week just… drifting around Neo-Gotham. I couldn’t bring myself to face my parents, so I stayed away from Metropolis. Couldn’t deal with the League with Mira back there either. So, I stayed around. Could barely sleep, so I went… bar hopping.”

Ichabod leaned against the Bat-computer’s control panel and smiled. “You went on a bender?”

“No… Yes… I guess that’s what you could call it.” Jon rubbed his nose abashedly. “I just needed time to think. The last place I ended up was Richard’s… you know… I didn’t understand why guys kept coming by, offering to buy me drinks.”

Ichabod’s lips curled inward as they fought the urge to laugh.

“I had no idea the last guy was Jokerz. He stopped and let me actually talk through my situation. It was completely innocent. In fact, Lucy kind of scared me when she busted in and… roughed the guy up.”

Ichabod slapped Jon’s shoulder—right where the stitches were—and said, “That’s something a little more relatable. I mean, it’s hard to believe you’re that stupid, but making stupid choices when you’re feeling down? That’s something I think most people can understand.”

“If I’d told you that before you stitched me up… would you have still—”

“Absolutely, but just because I like messing with you.”

Jon nodded. “Right. Because you’re a jerk.”

“Absolutely. I live to give you a hard time. I’m just glad to know I don’t have to hate you.”

Suddenly Jon felt like he was dealing with Lucy again and he felt exhausted just trying to keep up. “Is there anything I can do to get you to stop giving me a hard time?”

Ichabod shrugged. “When you stop making D’s life difficult, I’ll consider it.”

Jon sighed deeply. “I guess that’s fair. I don’t have to like you, though.”

“Never cared if you did.”

The garage entrance to the Cave opened up and Jon straightened up, almost excited to see Damian. He was a little confused when Damian entered with Terry, the young man who had saved him a few weeks back. “Did something happen?” he asked without thinking.

Damian raised an eyebrow and gave Jon a once over. He hadn’t really considered how weird it would look to be sitting around in the Batcave without a shirt on.

“Oh! Uh, this isn’t what it looks like. We were just—”

“Kryptonite?” Damian asked, his eyes shifting to Ichabod.

“Yup. At least the synthetic stuff. Got a message from Pennywise stating that it was stolen from the Red Hood’s, so they’ve announced their willingness to cooperate in order to shut down the Joker King.

“No!” Terry looked particularly worried about that plan. “The Hoods aren’t nearly as bad as the Jokerz, but they’ll kill him! I mean them!”

Ichabod leaned forward looking particularly curious. “‘Him,’ you say? Does this mean we have a suspect?”

Damian sent the arrest reports to the main computer and Ichabod spun in their seat to look at the holos. “That’s Douglas Tan. It would seem he has a history of violence and Joker worship as well as the strong opinion that the Jokerz aren’t radical enough.”

“And Pennywise discovered tonight that the Joker King is planning a big gathering at Gotham General tomorrow,” Ichabod added. “So now we have a location and a person of interest. Now we just need to figure out motive and intention.”

“You said something about him knowing things about Damian,” Jon said, trying to throw in some helpful input. “Not to mention attacking a hospital is an assault on the city’s most vulnerable—”

“His father’s a patient there,” Terry said, cutting Jon off. “He pretends to be random and chaotic like the joker, but he’s just a sick, twisted… I have to stop him.”

“What’s up with the personal investment, T-Dog?”

“I… may know… his sister…”

Ichabod pushed away from the control panel and wheeled over to Terry with a smile pasted on their face. “Nerves? I get it. I mean, not really—I can’t really feel stuff like that—but you care about the sister. Caring about people can be challenging. Am I right, Jonny Boy?”

Jon stiffened. “I… Um…” Damian finally locked eyes with him. “C-can we talk?”

“I’m operating at half capacity with an organized act of terrorism to deal with in less than twenty-four hours. Do we have to talk now?”

Ichabod hissed through their teeth and stood up. “Know what, Ter-bear? The computer system runs through the mansion. Care to share a meal and compare notes?”

“What? We need to come up with a plan and—”

“Yeah, we will. I’ve got a viable antidote for the custom drug the Joker King’s been using. Help me figure out the best means of distribution.”

“Oh. Sure. And we should discuss how to make sure the Hoods don’t do anything drastic. Most Jokerz are just idiot teens, you know?”

Ichabod led Terry up to the clock entrance and looked back, winking at Jon and Damian on their way out.

“Damian, I—”

“Go home, Jonathan.”

Not that Jon wasn’t expecting the cold reception, but this was a much shorter conversation than he had hoped for. “Hang on. I want to… I just… Can’t we—”

“You’re not here to apologize. It’s not like you can control your father’s actions. Nothing I say will make you feel better, so why are we bothering?”

Jon went rigid. “You mean right now, right? Why are we bothering with this… right now.”

Damian’s gaze dropped and Jon could feel his heart go with it.

“Damian, please. Just listen to me. I don’t want—”

“I can’t deal with your insecurity right now. Just go home. Console your father.”

“But you’re still recovering! You need all the help you can get!”

“Safe to assume Pennywise actually encountered Jason if she knew about the Hoods being robbed. And if you were with her, you saw him too. Which means he told you to stay away.”

Sometimes dating the world’s greatest detective was a real pain. “So what if he did? He’s a criminal! We do not negotiate with—”

“He’s right. If they’re utilizing synthetic kryptonite, then there’s an intent to use. They’re anticipating a response from you, and we can’t allow them the opportunity to harm you or turn you against us.”

“And you’re the better option? You’re not even actively acting as Batman right now!”

Damian pulled up the Red Hood’s main roster on the holos. “Todd will provide the man-power, Ichabod will provide an antidote, and Lucy will go in for the kill. The only challenge will be to reign her in, which Terry seems more than willing to try. Perhaps with the right suit he might—”

“So that’s just it then? You don’t need me?”

Damian let out an exhausted sigh. “I don’t like how things went down with your father. We’ve been keeping things quiet because… we both knew this would happen. Now that it has… I think we need time to reevaluate what we have.”

“I took time!” Jon shouted. “I’ve been ruminating on this for days! I couldn’t sleep!”

“And you think I could?”

Jon ached for Damian. He felt awful about how he handled things. How many times had he put Damian through this? For years he’d put Damian through this rollercoaster, always expecting to be forgiven. What had he done to prove he was worth forgiving? He had hurt Damian. Why was he acting like it had been the other way around?

“This… this is ridiculous,” Jon breathed.

“At last you understand. Now would you please just—”

“Computer, call Clark Kent.”

Damian’s eyes widened. “What are you?”

Clark picked up on the first ring. His face overtook the holo and looked down on the two of them. Even though he didn’t care for Clark’s opinions, Damian shrank into himself just a little under those watchful eyes.

[Jon. I’m disappointed to see that you’re still—]

“Shut up!” Jon snapped. “God, how can you be like this? There’s nothing wrong with a man loving another man! Our relationship doesn’t… it doesn’t hurt anyone!” It hurt themselves, obviously, but that didn’t have to be part of his argument. “And I do! I’ve loved Damian for years!”

[You don’t even know—]

“No! You don’t know anything! I love him and I don’t need your permission or your approval to do that! So… So if you have a problem with it, well, that’s your problem, because I’m done letting your opinion dictate how I live! You hear me? I LOVE DAMIAN WAYNE!”

[Jon—]

Jon hit the disconnect button on the control panel and stared at the holos in silence.

“That was…” Damian placed a hand on Jon’s back. “You’re such an idiot.”

Jon turned to him to argue but realized that Damian was smiling. “I… I just… did that,” Jon blurted out. “I just told my father—Superman—that I don’t care what he thinks.”

Damian chuckled. “It only took you how long?”

Jon scoffed and caught Damian by his hips, pulling him flush against himself. “I should have done that ages ago.”

Damian kissed the corner of Jon’s mouth and whispered, “I’m not going to argue with that.”

And it was like a dam had broken. Jon cupped the sides of Damian’s face and stole a real kiss. Damian’s hands pressed to his chest, but not to push him away. They basked in each other’s warmth, taking and giving in equal parts until they finally had to pull apart for breath.

“I love you,” Jon said airily. “I want to live with you.”

Damian curled his lips into a tight line and nodded. “I’d like that, beloved.”

Jon pulled Damian’s hips close again. “I’m sorry it’s taken this long. He leaned in for another kiss, but Damian put a hand between their lips.

“Not that I’m not over the moon, but there is still a situation that demands my full attention.” Jon smiled and kissed Damian’s hand anyways. “Please. I want to celebrate this properly, but given the circumstances, I have to—”

Jon raked his fingers through Damian’s hair, massaging his scalp. “Ichabod can take care of things tonight,” he said softly.

Damian let out a pleased moan, but finally pushed away. “And if Lucy encounters any problems tonight? If Todd were to contact for information regarding the Joker King’s plans for tomorrow? If Ick were to—”

Jon’s head hung low but bobbed in a pathetic nod. “I know. Of course I know. Can’t monopolize Batman’s time when his city’s in danger.”

Damian kissed his forehead and whispered, “But now that you’re moving in, it’ll be much easier to monopolize each other.”

Jon loved how Damian could simultaneously turn him down and excite him at the same time. And after spending so much time stuck in his own head, it was intoxicating just being in Damian’s presence. “You’re amazing.”

Damian rolled his eyes and took Jon’s injured hand, pressing a kiss to the puckering scar. “I’m proud of you, beloved. But I still have to ask that you to stay away from the city tomorrow.”

That took some of the wind out of Jon’s sails. “And you? You can’t expect me to just sit back and do nothing when you’re in danger.”

“I can and you will.” Before Jon could get in another word, Damian held a finger up. “But, it wouldn’t be in anyone’s best interest for Batman to operate at less than one hundred percent. I will do my best to stay away from the action. I have already contacted Free. I will take the time to set up a full battle plan with Todd before sunrise. I will simply take a page from my father’s book and run the operation from the shadows.”

Jon sighed, knowing full well that one kink in the plan could easily get Damian out in the cowl to rectify the situation personally. Still, what could he really to do stop Superman from helping if something like that were to happen.

“I understand.” What Damian didn’t know, probably wouldn’t hurt him…

**Author's Note:**

> And there's an intro to Ichabod! Lots more to come regarding their past and their uniqueness.
> 
> Couple disclaimers I figure I should add here:
> 
> 1\. I do NOT think Superman (Clark) is homophobic...It just made for a more depressing story to make him so. Playing on the binary ideas of the "Old Fashioned American," he just sort of fell into the right category to play the part.
> 
> 2\. I haven't written an intersex character before! I've written characters with different sexual preferences, but Ichabod is something new for me. That being said, if any way that they're depicted offends anyone, I apologize now. They're meant to be pretty easygoing with regards to their gender, but they are NOT trans. More explanation about their gender will come up soon. If I make a faux pas, rather than ripping me a new one, I'd deeply appreciate if someone let me know I made one. Grammar is a little messy with regards to pronouns in my head, so if I slip up know that it's accidental and easy for me to fix. HOWEVER! Keep in mind that I often write in targeted third person perspectives. When it's Icky's perspective, they'll be more on point about their identity. Damian will adjust quickly as well. Not everyone will grasp it right away, though, so if they're referred to based on any gender specifications when viewed from someone else's perspective, it's to give it a little authenticity; especially since it's not really Icky's first concern to correct people.
> 
> 3\. Yes, Damian and Jon's relationship is...twisted. It's not quite dub-con, though, and while I feel like it's taking a mental toll on the both of them (mostly Damian), it's not quite abusive either (at least physically). If I ever feel that's changed at a later point, I'll adjust the archive warnings. 
> 
> That's all for now I think! I might have enough ready to put up another chapter for this soon. Otherwise I'm still working on a few other things I've got going right now and I'm just back from vacation, so we'll see how my mind wanders.
> 
> Thanks for the support!


End file.
